Secrets.

Sometimes I want to scream, "It's a lie! Please see that it's a lie! I'm tired of this pretence, it was real the first time. Can't you see? That's me, that is me and I just want you to know, I just want comfort for it, just once. I want you to know!" And sometimes I just want to scream it where you will hear me. That's why I occasionally tell you in a cryptic way, then fear drives me to cloak it in lies that aren't quite, and on rare occasions, out and out mistruths. That fear is not for myself.

It's my secret and I can never tell you, even at the times when it rears its ugly head, when it gets to me and shakes me to the core, leaves me mulling over these matters. How do I speak of such a thing? The exbestfriend knows. And David. But then it was a "one - off" (and at the time I honestly believed it was, at least to such extremes), and all that happened was my fearing that I had done a worse thing in mentioning it, exposing the secret and perhaps procuring dreadful consequences.

It is not to be spoken of, for although you'd care adequately, more so; you wouldn't understand with the right perspective, and it would taint certain things irrevocably. I don't want that, can't have that. I will not allow that certain outcome to occur, and so I must keep this to myself, even in the midst of the whorl of emotions, the intensity that I wish to deny. I cling instead to obliviousness, since that is all I have. When really, a simple hug from the right person would suffice.

Because it's not as bad as it seems at the time. How can one explain to those who have no idea? And yet, I long for you to understand, to understand my position and give me the comfort required, but not develop righteous ideas and only make things worse.

Life has never been easy, I suppose.

P.S. Sorry for being so vague and confusing, but I really needed to get this out because it has been killing me, but I cannot explain what I am speaking about and for that I apologise profusely. I'll be back with more reader-appropriate posts soon.