You say that you want to know who I am.  You want to know where I’ve been, what I feel, and what my reasons are.  Do I think I’m justified?  Am I right?  What makes me do the things I do.

You ask me these things, earnestly.  As if the answers are easy, simple.  As if I have the power to make you believe what I feel, instead of what you see.  As if I have the ability to convince you that I am some kind of brilliant angel: perfect and without flaws, as if I’ve never stolen, or drank, or broke somebody’s heart.  That’s really what you want, isn’t it?  You want me heaved inside the lines, even if I don’t quite fit.  Even if it kills me, but in such a way that I keep on living.  That would be easier for you to handle, I know.  If I were five-by-five and easy to convince of, well, anything.

Instead, you ask me where I’ve been.  You ask me what I feel.  You ask me what I could possibly want out of life, out of love, out of the way I give my heart—and, more importantly, who I’ve given it to.  The look on your face seems inviting enough, even though I’ve seen this seen before, and I know that Iago could not do it better.  You are not what you are.

Then again, neither am I, right?

You say that you want to know me, but you don’t.  Not really.  Not if it’s messy.  Not if I’m messy.  At the end of the time, you see me, but you don’t see me.  Even though I’m standing here, even though I’ve told you every word of this fable.  I’ve been honest.  I’ve told the truth.  And yet, it’s not enough.  The questions turn to outrage.  The allies turn their faces away.  And for a brief moment I feel what you must feel: I cannot recognize you at all.  It would destroy me, if I hadn’t already seen it coming.

Yes, I noticed the contempt in your eyes.  The judgment.  The accusation.  There is no compassion, no mercy, no live-and-let-live reprieve.  There’s just you, asking me things you have no right to ask.

And I answer out of respect.  Loyalty, perhaps.  Most likely, it’s out of some deep-seated need for your approval.  I know that I don’t have that.  I know that I never will.  And I know that you don’t really want to know me, if I’m cracked on the insides, bleeding scarlet, and singing with a siren’s grace.

But that’s not the worst of it.  The worst is that you ask me to change.  To come to my senses.  What you really mean is that you want me to see things your way.  You want me to fall in line, smile pretty, and try not to upset the applecart.  What I want, feel, or need doesn’t matter.  Or, as you might say, it shouldn’t.  Not in this case, where the good men have taken sides, leaving all the villains out to play.

If I changed, now, it wouldn’t be true.  If I gave in, and gave up, it would be a lie.  It might be the safe thing, the easy thing, and the path without resistance—but it would not be because I thought it was right.  No, it would just be because I’m tired of fighting.  And God knows, I am. 

But I’m also tired of living my life based on someone else’s expectations.  I've played by the rules for so long that I foolishly thought that they were my own.  I didn't know enough to understand why that's so very wrong.  And now I do.  I know more than you can imagine, even if I can't put it into words. 

I know that reason has no place in love.  I know that love is not always patient and kind.  I know that the right thing can be the wrong thing, and the wrong thing can seem like a dream.  I know what it is to make a mistake, cry about it, and then make it again.  I know what it's like to hurt right down to my soul, until there are dirges in my eyes and tears at the tips of my fingers.  I know what it's like to trust when it isn't warranted, to kick myself for past wrongs, and to lie about it later.  I know why people fall into the shadows, forget how to love, and sneer at the wreck of their own hopes.  I know what it's like to crawl out of darkness, to smile when there is no reason to, and to help someone simply because I can.  I know what it's like to believe in someone when no one else does.  I know how to see the good, even if I have to tilt my head, squint my eyes, and hold my breath.

And yes, I also know that disapproval is a difficult mantel to bear. But I'll bear it if I have to, if you leave me no other choice.  And yes, I understand that this choice is up to you, that there are things I cannot control: opinions, the weather, my sense of purpose, and the consequences of living life a little sideways.

These are my truths, such as they are.  Take them or leave them--but recognize the spirit in which you found them. 

Let's face it: for some people, it's easier to hurl insults than it is to listen.  Conversations are tricky things, and if you actively participate in a discussion, you might *gasp* change your mind.  Or, at the very least, gain a new perspective.  Some people are afraid of that, of things that challenge their world view or opinion.  Most would rather see the world in strict black and white, ignoring the grey altogether.  It makes life more comfortable, easier to handle. 

Good/bad.  Right/wrong.  Truth/lie.  Love/apathy. 

Diametric opposites.  There's an argument that you cannot understand one without the other.  Interestingly, though, we often want to stipulate that there is a concrete definition for these things.  In some cases, sure, there might be.  But we're all a product of so many things: our innate personality, our immediate environment, and the cultural whirlpool around us.  For instance, I will never, eat horse meat.  I think that's a disgusting practice.  In Italy, and other European countries, it's a delicacy.  To me, that'd be like munching on my childhood pony.  Just...ew.

Just because I think it's wrong doesn't mean it is.  It's just wrong for, and to, me.

Last night, on House there was a really pivotal event.  For those that don't watch the show, one doctor (Chase) murdered a patient.  That patient was a mass-murdering dictator.  Had he lived, he would've returned to his country and killed countless people.

Chase finally came clean about this secret: he told his wife, Cameron.  And she forgave him.  Not because she agreed with what happened, but simply because he felt shame/remorse.

But what if he didn't?  What if he simply had said, "Look, I did this terrible thing, but I think it was the right thing.  It's a means to an end.  Killing to prevent more killing."

Granted, as a doctor, there's that whole Hippocratic oath.  Let's take that out of the equation.  Think about all the botched assassinations of Fidel Castro.  Killing one man to prevent other horrible things.  In theory, that's condoned.  But...why?  Do the circumstances really matter that much?  Is it okay for one person (or governing body), and not okay for another?

These examples are all over the place, I know.  My point is that life is messy.  You can't always understand someone else's point of view.  What matters is that you try.  That doesn't mean you have to agree.  It doesn't mean you have to think good things.  But accepting someone for who they are, flaws and all?  That is the very height of goodness and compassion.  It is the thing we expect from those who love us and care for us.

We're not one specific facet of our personality.  We are a heaping, swirling conglomeration of a thousand different things.  We're not that forbidden cigarette or that glass of wine after work.  We're not the sum total of our bad judgments or mistakes.  When you start seeing someone in terms of all the bad things, so many things get overlooked.  And when that happens, absolutely everyone loses.

Dan: You think love is simple. You think the heart is like a diagram.
Larry: Have you ever seen a human heart? It looks like a fist, wrapped in blood! Go fuck yourself! You writer! You liar!
~Closer

This morning, I've been thinking about revelation.  When something's been hidden, there are certain times and circumstances that compel someone to expose themselves, confess, peel back a layer, tell the truth, or bring something to light.  A telling like that is no small thing.  It's often dangerous.  It's almost always a risk, calculated or otherwise.  There's always an impact, too, something that needs bracing.

It doesn't matter what's being admitted--chopping down the cherry tree, or pulling up a neighbor's flowers by accident (yes, that was me. I was eight years old.  Give me a break.  And while we're at it, you always reminded me of a Stepford Wife.), or sharing your identity with the world (Belle du Jour recently unmasked herself--brave woman).

Sharing a secret is a big deal, even when a person tries to play it cool.  There are occasions when doing so is an effort to remain in control, to keep someone from having power (knowledge = power), or to simply get something out in the open.  With it, comes a brash kind of adrenaline that makes you feel like Superman/Superwoman and/or like you might throw up.  It's not something for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.

The hard truth is that no matter how necessary it is, some secrets are hard to keep.  There can be too many variables.  Too many instances where something could go wrong.  Too many moments where you just barely get away with keeping your cool and your cover.  But the harsh reality is that the truth, occasionally, doesn't set you free.

Because there are consequences.  Aren't there always?  Sometimes, the truth is often a cowardly refuge.  There's long been the debate about cheating.  If you cheat on your significant other, do you tell him/her?  And more importantly, what's your reasoning?  Most of the time, it's due to guilt.  You (in the general sense) want absolution.  So, you've done two things that are detrimental: you've broken someone's trust, and then you've rubbed his/her nose in it.  Is it better not to know?  I can't actually say.  I don't think there's an easy, clear-cut answer.  And if you do...perhaps I should hand you a cookie.  Your mind just might be so small that you...eh, never mind.  That was snarky.  I'm feeling snarky, did I mention that?

But I've gotten really off-topic with that example.  Confessing something usually takes guts.  It's right up there with calling your ex to apologize for having been a bitch/bastard during your relationship.  You might not have to do it, and it might be difficult as all hell--but somewhere in your mind, you feel that it will help that other person.  So, you swallow your pride and do it.  Or you finally tell your friend that you think his/her spouse is a sack of shit, encased in primordial ooze.  Not out of spite or meanness, but because you feel that your friend needs help.  It's a dangerous gamble.  But all worthwhile things are intensely difficult.

The oversimplified truth is this: if you are keeping a secret, it is (most likely) keeping you.  It dictates your actions, your words, how you think, and quite possibly how you feel.  It's blessing and a burden all at the same thing.  And I've been thinking about this, ever since I read about Belle's reveal this morning.  (If you don't know who she is, perhaps you've heard of the tv show, Secret Diary of a Call Girl?) 

Sometimes, it pays to confess the truth.  I think what Belle did was brave.  And yes, even though I know her real name, I keep referring to her as Belle.  Old habits, I guess.  What I realized from her actions (aside from the revelation in the last paragraph) is that there's a tremendous amount of relief in unveiling a secret.  It doesn't matter what it is, or what the circumstances are; in a lot of ways, it grants you a certain degree of self-satisfying power.  Once you tell, you can't undo it.  And once you do, it's out in the open, come way may.

We all have secrets that we keep.  Some of us shield them better than others.  Some, we'll carry through out entire lifetime.  Others, beg to be unburden, unleashed, and released back into the larger reality.  But regardless of where or not it's told, everyone's got a story.  There is absolutely no point in contesting that.  Everyone has a past.

And sometimes, there are more secrets than you'd think.  But do yourself a favor, and I'll do it too.  It doesn't have to be here.  It doesn't have be to a large audience.  But today, tell somebody something.  Get rid of that thing you've been too tired or scared to talk about.  Do it for the right reasons, though.  Let your guard down.

Maybe tonight you'll sleep better.