I’m really bad at keeping secrets.
No, not the kind a friend whispers in your ear and asks you not to repeat. Actually, I’m pretty good at keeping those.
I’ve kept a diary since I was eleven years old and until college the little book with its tiny lock was the only one who knew my crushes, my thoughts and my insecurities. My friends would complain that they told me their entire life story and I never shared a word. They were right and I felt bad, especially for my really close friends. But the words refused to come out. During those times, when a friend informed me of her most recent crush she didn’t even need to ask me not to repeat it.
I’ve always believed that people are bad at keeping secrets. Most people inherently feel the need to share. So when they have new information, they bubble with the excitement and will burst unless they do something about it. I used to write it in my diary and poof! It was out of my system.
As I grew older and stopped carrying ten-pound notebooks with a broken lock, I started to open up more and more. I still felt morally uncomfortable sharing other people’s secrets, but mine became less important. (As for my needs-to-be-out-of-your-system theory, I, at some point, decided that whatever my friend chose to tell me was between us and deserved utmost respect. If she or he chose to share it with others, it was her or his choice but I refused to repeat it, even if it bubbled up. Hmm, that says so much about the validity of my theory, eh?)
Anyhow going to back to my secrets and my point, I decided opening up wasn’t such a bad idea. Most importantly if I ever did something that was relevant to another person; I became totally unable to hold on to that information. This often applies to my boyfriends (meaning the category in general, not that I currently have more than one), but is not limited to them.
My mother used to tell me that everything doesn’t need to be public. Some things are better not spoken. I disagree. I must, cause I can never follow that advice. I can never hide anything from my boyfriend. Even if I have a crush on some other guy or I’m about to have dinner with an ex. I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal and if I tell him, he’ll think it is and that I shouldn’t tell him and then the moment he walks into the room, I blurt it all out.
The truth is that I think it’s a big deal when I choose not to tell him (assuming I’d do such a thing). If I feel the need to keep it from him, I must have a reason. Do I secretly hope something will happen between this guy and me? Am I still hung over the ex? The only reason I’d choose not to share the event with my boyfriend is if I believe I’m doing something wrong. I just think that there is no point in playing games. If either one of us is going to cheat then what’s the point of continuing our relationship? Obviously it’s lost whatever it had.
This habit has been enhanced by a remarkably understanding man who is my current boyfriend. Honesty has made our relationship solid and lasting.
Now when I feel the urge to lie, I ask myself what that says about my relationship with the other person.
In my case, that there isn’t much of a relationship to begin with.
Previously? Nitpicking.
