Champagne

People are hidden behind walls, both figurative and real. We hide in our houses from people and things in the real world when we do not want to or cannot deal with them. We hide in our minds what we do not want the world to see or hear. We choose what we want people to know. Some let it all out and some keep it all in.  

I talk a lot. I talk maybe too much.

The problem is I do not say anything meaningful. Sometimes I am crazy or just outright ridiculous. Sometimes I am a comedian and sometimes I am a comforting friend. Sometimes I am overly political and sometimes I am stubborn and opinionated.

I share the funny details. I share the weird things. I share the enjoyable and the stupid. I share the crazy.

I share about my family when it puts them in good light. I share when my aunt tells me she sleeps naked. I share when my dad and I have an interesting argument about politics and women. I share when my mom makes an interesting joke. I share some stories with a laugh even though in reality it hurt me deep inside.

I share the good because it is too hard to share what hurts me the most. If I do not say it than maybe it is not true. These are people I love, people I will go to the ends of the earth to protect. These are people that I care so much about. It is easier to pretend they did nothing than to say they hurt me. It is easier to tell the story with the funny details than to add the end where I was ripped apart. It easier to make a story funny than to say I cannot accept it. It easier to end in a smile than to tell someone they are close minded. It is easier to pretend to accept someone’s belief than to tell them you believe they truly are wrong. It is easier to laugh at something I cannot believe or understand than to tell someone what they said affected me.

In therapy and my journal I never say anyone’s name because I do not want anyone thinking anything negative about people I care about because of me. I do not want that to be the impression that anyone gets of someone I care deeply for but just may have been hurt by.

I do not confront people for fear they might not care. I do not want an excuse after being made to feel like I do not matter or I am disposable. When that is all I get it hurts me more than walking away and keeping the pain to myself.  So I say nothing. I cannot even write about my feelings further than what I am writing right now. My journal, my blogs, even talking to a therapist, I never say who hurt me, or how, or why, I always keep it general and on the surface, because the further I dig the more I get hurt.

Is it better to hold it all in or let it all out? Truthfully as hard as I try I am closed by fear and hurt.

Do I matter, am I anyone’s first choice sometimes or on anyone’s list of ‘I cannot live without’? I never want to test the boundaries or ask those questions because I fear I may know the answer, and I may not be able to handle it.

So for now my journal stays nameless and my stories stay funny and crazy, until I am I ready to pop the cork on the champagne and let everything out.