I have told many people bits of my past over the years. I keep it simple and only tell what is necessary for the situation. There are people that have been sheltered and telling them my history either opens their eyes or they shut it out. It seems like a lot of people do not want to see the bad in the world. I don’t blame them, there are days when I wish I couldn’t see it.
I hated it when people would look at me differently after they found out about my dad. It was almost like they forgot who I was and I suddenly became the girl with the convict dad (or whatever it was I decided to tell them). It seemed to define me. People pitied me, and I really hated that. I stopped talking about it because I didn’t want to be under that shadow.
I also hold these pieces close to me. I hoard them. They are my precious pieces of darkness. These are the path to my soul and I am not about to let just anyone in. No one has all my pieces, and I’m not sure if I will ever be able to share them all with the same person. They are mine, they are all I have. It is irrational, I know.
Having said that, I have taken the risk and shared some of them with B, a lot more than I normally share. It was worth it, but it was also really fucking scary because he saw more than what I shared, and that is totally unfair! And uncomfortable. And unbelievably nice.
Yesterday, I shared a little bit with a few people, and… I didn’t feel alienated. It was pretty amazing. Now that I think about it, I think it actually made me feel like I kinda fit in. Strange…