We’ve all heard the expression “You’re only as sick as your secrets”. Me, I grew up in a family where secret-keeping was de rigeur. It seemed everyone had a secret. My mother’s secret was that she racked up credit card debt & rather than tell my father (her supposed loving husband) how much she spent, she went behind his back and borrowed money from her own father to pay off the charge cards. My grandmother’s secret was that she knew goddamn well she was dying, even as my grandfather and mother strove to conceal that fact from her. My father’s secret, well secret in that the neighbors never knew, was that my mother verbally and physically abused him for decades and he just sat there and took it.
My secret…I’ve come clean about what my grandfather did to me; I’ve gotten honest about the drinking & no, I don’t drink anymore; you’d think I have no secrets left. But I do, even though I know that as long as I continue to have secrets, I’ll continue to be sick.
The upside to having secrets of my own, though, is I’ve gotten really fucking good at keeping secrets. I no longer drink, so I won’t get plastered and blab your business all ’round town. Anything you tell me goes in a vault. And because I’m sick (very fucking depraved) myself, it’s not a lot of things in the world that shock me.
You are not obligated to tell me your secrets, but if you do, know that telling me is like telling the wind.