I’ve been keeping an ugly secret since I was six years old.
I kept quiet for a lot of reasons, the biggest being shame. MY shame. I am ashamed of myself, ashamed of the circumstances I allowed myself to be in, ashamed of my stains. It’s never a fun thing to admit that you’ve made a mistake, even if the mistake wasn’t completely your fault. The secrets I keep have enveloped me in shame for all of my life. In fact, shame has been a fundamental part of my emotional make up for so long that I don’t really even notice that it’s there anymore. I ALWAYS feel shame. Humiliating, shoulder drooping, brow beating shame is just a part of my everyday self.
I think the second reason I’ve kept my disgusting secrets is to protect people. To protect myself, of course, from the shame I just talked about and from punishment for my actions, but also to protect the people I feel I’m supposed to protect. Namely my family. My parents. My parents, and the people my parents care about.
If they ever find this blog post online…. Sorry Mom. For being stained, and for being damaged. And for failing to be everything I could have been. And Dad, please don’t kill anyone. I know you’ll want to, and that’s okay. It just means you love me.