I am covered in skin
No one gets to come in
- Counting Crows, Colorblind
There are very few people that I confide in. I have always been this way – private…solitary…introspective. In high school I only had a few close friends. As an adult, I have even fewer.
I don’t know why I am like this, but I am. I am not a shy person, but I am a private person when it comes to what is in my heart.
My writing, the way I am here – that is the exception to keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. I suppose that is one of the main reasons that I like having this space. I can share deeply private things with people, without having to “own” those things. Does that make sense? It is a way to come out of my shell a bit, without having to do it face-to-face with someone and then regret it the next day, like a one-night-stand gone bad.
It is a strange dynamic – this writing publicly to people I don’t know about things that are so personal and private. I have “met” people through writing that I feel so close to, yet I have never actually met them face to face. And these people know some of the most intimate details of my life. It is so bizarre. I am afraid to sit down with most people and share mundane details about my day and yet I will write here about all kinds of things: sex, religion, politics, children, finances. I wouldn’t discuss most of those things with my closest friends yet they are all here for the world to read.
How broken am I?