The Truth About Secrets
My thoughts are being carved inside my mind. And in this little pause in my life, I’m reflecting, and reflecting, and reflecting… And learning more and more about myself by learning about others.
I didn’t think I would have any secrets, but I do. The funny thing is, I just don’t have any secrets of my own. Since sharing my own life, heart break for heart break, people have most likely been encouraged to sneak their way into my life and tell me their secrets. And those are the secrets I hold within myself. And the weight is heavy.
I know there are some of you out there who are just as lonely as I am (I don’t know the cure). I know there are some of you out there who like making the ones you love cry (That I will never understand). I know there are some of you out there who are with someone you do not love anymore (I do not know why you stay). And I also know that there are some of you who do not fear death, but still fear the small encounters with the people you feel you have betrayed. (Funny enough, I also know that these people do not feel they have been betrayed by you.) Small world, I guess?
“Jade…Please don’t write this in your blog or anything like that.”
Okay. So what do I do with these secrets?
I think I do what you do with them - except I don’t get to share. I take them on walks. I go outside with them and explore an unpaved road with my dog. I eat with them when I sprinkle granola on greek yogurt. I find a corner and a good book and I read with the on my shoulder. And I sing with them in showers when I finish up after lifting at the gym until my arms shake. Someone else’s secrets are like those friends from childhood that you never thought were really your friends: overbearing and unwanted. Still in the end, they are there and I know I have to live with them now, and if I’m loyal, forever.
Poor dears, these guilty little secrets. I have to hide them like I’m ashamed when I know there is nothing wrong with them—It seems everyone has these whispering confessions. They just pretend they don’t. And I have to be selfish and keep up this facade and pretend like everyone in the world has nothing to hide, that the mistakes we make are only realized afterwards, that we don’t know a mistake going into it.
And all I’m asking inside my head after yet another someone confides in me, in hiding, in quiet, in secret:
Why don’t you take a chance and tell the truth?