I’m a secretive person

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I’m open to the world and I don’t care as long as it’s not illegal. I can be brave and loud on the Internet. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. Anyone except my family.

I am not open to my family. I am a closed flower and sometimes it makes me feel bad. Like there’s whole conversations bubbling up and I just can’t bring them outside of my own head. So I’m quiet and small, or I only show one small part of myself and hide the real me away.

And I like having that secret. That segregation of my parts. I like that out of everything they’ve taken from me or I’ve given to them, there’s a whole part of me that I’ve kept separate from my family.

I wish that I was open and honest about all the little things though. That’s my only regret. I wish I could give my smallest opinions but it’s too much for me. I have secrets to keep, and I’m afraid that opening up the tiniest crack will spill all my insides out. Instead I’m relegated to passive aggressive lists and rolled eyes to show my displeasure. I hate that trying to speak my mind in real life makes me so tired.

If I could give my family a whole person to deal with, I think it would be better. But most of the best parts of me go into or come out of books, movies, and comics. There’s a whole world happening in my brain, and it’s given me leanings that are outside of our small family world.

I have differing political views. I write slashy fiction. I like certain shows. Everything I know has been shaped by something else, and somehow I’ve grown outside of my family. And because of that I can only express my views on the Internet, and that’s where my inner self lives, wild and out loud.

I don’t want my family to think I’m a freak. I want to avoid that speculative eye. And at the same time I don’t want to disappoint. I can’t stand that look that says I’ll never be good enough, because it nearly kills me every time. I don’t want to be judged and found, once again, wanting.

So I live a life of quiet fortitude. I am constantly battling the words that want to be said, but swallowing them gets easier and easier. I told myself that I was going to have to think small, live small, be small to survive and I worry that I’m not coiling tight, I’m fading away; shrinking down to nothing.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

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