Fear and Honesty

*Disclaimer* This is kind of all over the place. Take it as you will.

I am a very honest person.

Sometimes, vexingly honest.

If I am thinking something, and I feel like it is something you should know, and I haven’t been asked to not share it, or otherwise entrusted with it by another person, I’m going to tell you. Simply because withholding information is a form of lying, in my opinion. This is both a blessing, and a curse. I am upfront, very blunt. I don’t beat around the bush, or waste your time, but, at the same time, my honesty has a habit of making people I care about uncomfortable. That is not intentional; of course, it is just a byproduct of being called a liar so often as an adolescent, that you make it a point to be the complete opposite.

Sometimes, I will even blurt something out, not because I feel that you need to know it, but because I need to say it to someone, and I trust you enough to hear it and not judge me too harshly for it. Perhaps, I ought to do less of this.

I will not say that I don’t occasionally blur the edges to make people feel better…”yes, of course your baby is cute”… when asked… though, sometimes, I do wish it were okay to be honest about it, since, no. Not all babies are cute. As Dr. House said, quite frequently, “Everybody lies”. I do, however, try to keep it to the “necessary” minimum.

I realized last night, that there is one area of my life that I have never been able to be completely honest about. That realization tore into me like a knife on fire, and what followed was something else I rarely experience. Fear.

Now, I have always been afraid of something happening to my daughters. That fear has made me feel big, powerful… like I would do anything to keep them safe… and, of course I would.

This new fear made me feel small, fragile… like I wanted to curl into a ball and hide inside myself.

I don’t have a lot of experience with fear. I generally feel like, if it can’t kill you, there is no point in being afraid of it, and, if it can kill you, well, we are all going to die anyway, so, what’s the point? But this isn’t a thing; that is to say, it isn’t tangible.

I have never been able to be completely honest about what I need. Primarily in relationships, but not exclusively; whether it has been an emotional need, or a physical one, sexual or whatever, I have always been more concerned about what my partner needs than what I do.

Now that I have been honest with myself about this, and about what it is that I doneed… that is where the fear comes in. I find myself wanting to crawl inside myself, because I am afraid that I will someday decide to begin a relationship with someone who will then run away because I am too much… because what I need is more than he can or is willing to give. I am afraid that I will never find a man who can “handle” me. It leaves me wondering whether the reason it has been so difficult for anyone to actually care about me is because they can tell that I am a freak.


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