I have a horrible time in keeping secrets. It's true. I just don't do well with them at all. It's so weird about secrets. When did those come about? The history of them. There had to have been a time when we didn't have any, when there wasn't enough of us around to keep them, or hide from them.
Don't get me wrong...I have some of my own. Those few little things that will probably only just go to the grave with me. When I'm dead, people will stand around looking at my crap pile never knowing why I saved that matchbook, or that slip of paper.
Will anyone know the complete extent of another human. No probably not. That's rather amazing...thinking about that. In our day and age, we certainly do not even scratch the surface of one another...think of all of those things, hidden, that we just won't know about eachother. It's a bit exciting and overwhelming at the same time. Even your best of best of best friends, well, you may just miss out. And I certainly think there's a huge difference between secrets and personal tragedies. Personal tragedies are though things we keep hidden because we're afraid of non-acceptance. They can be secrets, too. But, are most certainly the most damaging kind.
People have always told me their secrets. I don't know why. Sometimes, they get a little weighing. I'm amazed that people would feel to share so much sometimes. A friend told me that I needed Aura work. Well, sometimes I need something...that's for sure.
Example:
I was at a bar with a friend. This man proceeded to lean over and tell me that I could call him T-Dog. Then he told me how he had this disease that made him allergic to his own poop. He couldn't use regular toilet paper, he had to use special, antiseptic wipes instead. And this was hereditary...his father had this disease. Was this true? I don't know. When he didn't get the response that he wanted from me, he told me that I couldn't call him T-Dog anymore.
At work for a company that randomly drug tested, this woman just blurted out to me, at a very awkward moment that she smoked pot. Then proceeded to ask me never to tell. And she didn't know why she had just said that to me. I never did tell. But, it was not a moment when you would just blurt that out.
Or, this guy that brought all of Carlos Castaneda's books to where I was working just to tell me out of the blue, that this was his new religion.
And why tell me? I'm the worst at keeping secrets. I don't like to keep them. As much as I talk, why would anyone feel like they could trust me? I'll never figure that one out.
So, this week, a couple of people from a past life of mine swept their way back to me. I was inadvertently thrown back into a time period that I was not so cool with, one that I often keep secret. What to do? What to do?
I opted on to go where these people were. I opted not to confront my past. I didn't really see the point in it. I did make the choice not to keep how I knew these people a secret, but I didn't feel the need to pursue a new relationship with them. No matter how much we had all changed. I would imagine that I might have been a topic of discussion, and opted to let the chips fall where they may. So, there's that. I must be getting comfortable in my own skin, finally.
And yet another person this week told me of their own secret. And even went to the point to say they knew people who would hurt me if I told anyone. Well, why tell me then? I know my own people, you know. We could start a tiny war over this. People do it all the time. How weird is that to tell someone? Don't tell me if you have to have me beaten up about it...I've got other people to be responsible to. I'm not even Catholic.
All that to do about secrets. It's a lot of hubbub. It's a hassle. It's passe.
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