I never thought I could have such a huge secret and not constantly burn with wanting to tell everyone. I thought it would be harder. A huge part of me is hidden, shelved away from prying eyes.
In a way, I wish it was harder.
Not telling people is...painful. But not because it hurts to keep the secret.
It hurts because there if this huge part of me that people don’t see, and I love it.
I revel in having something so totally mine.
But I wish I didn’t enjoy it so much.
I wish it wasn’t so easy to pretend that everything is normal and perfect and exactly the way it should be.
Lying is so easy. So wonderfully simple.
But it makes a person feel slimy inside, after a while.
If it was so easy to keep this secret; to hide this part of me, what comes next?
It scares me.
How else will I manipulate people’s perceptions of me?
I know I can trust them. I can. And yet…
For some reason I still feel the need to put guards up. To hide behind a screen of falsities.
Maybe I have to be honest with myself before I can be honest with anyone else.
But that slimy feeling follows me. I feel its tendrils tangling around my limbs.
Tightening every time I open my mouth.
Making me into a monster with every white lie, every half-heartedly muttered agreement, every too-quiet argument.
My secret brings me so much joy, and so much pain.
To not share it seems blasphemous.
Yet I am terrified of what may happen if I allow those words to pass my lips.
The retaliation for the truth could be disastrous.
Lying is so much easier.
Cowardly, painful, and monstrous,
but so very much easier.