An open book

One of the things I love about writing fiction is how impersonal I can be. It's essentially making things up and getting paid for it. I often find however that writing about myself, ideas or experiences I am filled with a sense of dread or loathing. Part of me has always been paranoid about opening up to people, a paranoia that has been enforced by a lifetime of verbal abuse and neglect.

At one point in my life I decided that I didn't like keeping everything inside, internalizing my pain didn't make it feel any better and it was hardly protection from someone who actually did want to hurt me. So I decided I would be an open book. I wouldn't hide or lie about myself or my beliefs. For a long time I felt better about myself for being honest and open. Although I do admit on occasion to violate my own policy, but mostly my life is/was an open book.

The troubles it has gotten me into are sometimes funny, and other times very very depressing.
I have missed so many opportunities in my life because I was unwilling to lie or compromise my personal ethics. It's particularly funny in regards to relationships. One time I fell in love with two girls. At the time I didn't know which I liked more and when they asked me that's what I told them. It hurt both of them and it blew up in my face.

Being an open book and having a code of ethics does not make me a fool however. In battle, competition and any other contest of wills a lie is a tactical move. It costs you honor and respect but if you have extra to spare then go for it. My rivals and enemies are more then willing to lie, I should be prepared to do the same.

After some of the things that have happened to me it's difficult to remain an open book. If I told some people how I felt it would destroy them, and they may even deserve it. But I don't want to be that kind of person. It is an uneasy balance between being open and not unleashing a flood of anger and assorted negative feelings. I have to accept that a lot of people abandoned me when things didn't look good, But I learned from it who I can really trust in the long run.
It's difficult to get closure with people when you cannot speak to them anymore. A catch-22 that the most dangerous hurtful elements in life must be faced head on. If you do not face them head on they fester inside you forever like a disease.

I say these things because there were moments I was weak.

I forgot about my honor, I forgot about the condition of my soul and sank into an emo-filled pit of apathy. A lack of honesty about my condition and feelings drove me into it too. If I had told people something was wrong I may have been able to avert it, or at least prepare them for it when it came. I was ashamed and I concealed it. It wasn't until I stood on the brink between life and death that I was able to admit to anyone... especially myself that I did not have control.

Someday I will be able to talk about the things that happened, and the things that I felt... and still feel. But for the moment it's too dangerous, a special exemption to the open-book policy in my life. There are some people I can talk to, very special trusted people in the meantime. And someday I will be able to write about it here.

I have to air these things. To show my shame and weakness because I don't want them to be my shame and weakness forever. I'm starting to awaken, not just to who I was but to who I should be.