LJ Idol 10: Maybe... It Really Is You.

[bewize]

Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets.

~ Paul Tournier


I don’t know what it is, but there is something about me that inspires confidence. People tell me things. For the most part, I keep people’s secrets. I know things about friends and family, bosses and coworkers, complete strangers even, that they would never want repeated. I just don't know why I know these things.

I suspect it’s something I inherited from my father. I’ve borne witness to the times when someone approaches him, a desperate gleam in the speaker's eyes, a defeated tilt to his shoulders. He places his hand on my father’s shoulder, their heads move together, and a whispered tale is exchanged.

Help me. They whisper.

Don’t judge me. They beg.

Believe me. They pray.

And my father would listen. As I now listen, when people approach me.

I don’t know what it is, this trait of mine that soothes the heartache and bruises of secrets kept, that earns trust and promises relief. Perhaps it is the way I tilt my head. Perhaps it is the way I don’t shrug away from the clutching hand on my shoulder. Perhaps it is the bruises in my own soul that whisper back.

I become both confessor and confident.

It takes a toll.

But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul.

~Hamlet, Act I., Sc. V

Secrets are burdens. They hurt. They fester and tear at the soul until desperation finally forces a reveal. If you’re lucky, the person you tell doesn’t care. Your confessor will have no interest in your dark deeds or your secret longings. If you’re unlucky, the most painful parts of your life will be used against you.

For those of us who carry the weight of others sins on our shoulders, there is no reward, no promise of freedom. If we betray trust, we become hollow shells of what we once were. If we keep the secrets, we learn to lie with our smiles and delude with our laughter.

We hide your terror like it is our own.

5. Your spouse isn’t cheating on you.

You cried when you told me that you had been unfaithful. You begged me to condone your actions. You castigated yourself more horrifically than this transgression deserves.

I held your hand. I told you that it was an accident. A mistake. When it happened again, I didn’t say anything.

What should I have said? That you’d betrayed your word? Your oath of loyalty? Your spouse’s trust? You know all of this. I can see it ripping you to shreds. In time, you might learn to forgive yourself. In time, you might confess and reconcile. At no time, is your marriage something that I deserve a voice in.

I keep your secret, because I love you. I keep your secret. because I see the way you look at your beloved when they aren’t looking at you. I keep your secret, because I see the way your beloved looks at you when you are looking back.

When your spouse asks me if something is wrong, I pat their hand and tell them that from where I sit, everything looks as good as it can.

I wonder if they believe me.

4. You didn’t perjure yourself with that testimony.

I wasn’t an attorney when you told me this secret. I didn’t know the man who was hurt. I did not, then, owe a duty to the courts.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, shaking my head violently when you told me that it had been planned. I gagged slightly when you told me you supsected that “the boys were up to something.” I shuddered when you told me that he might never walk unaided again.

You threw up. It might have been the alcohol. It might have been guilt.

I cannot absolve you of your part in this crime. I cannot make the burden easier to live with. But I also cannot heal the injuries that were given. I cannot punish the ones who most caused the hurt.

I can tell you that despite your actions, I still love you.

I wonder if I ever really knew you, though.

3. Your spouse is happy with you and the life you’ve chosen together.

You’ve made the decision together, to be married, to have a house and two and half kids in the suburbs. That’s what you tell me.

I can see the lie in your eyes. You know that you’re not telling me the truth. You’re telling me what you want to believe. S/he loves you. S/he needs you.

S/he is not in denial about hir sexuality.

I wonder what you would say if I told you that your husband had slept with another man. I wonder what you would say if you knew your wife had been in love with a woman for two years. I wonder if I have any right to take away what you believe is your last chance at happiness.

You say that past relationships don’t matter. Do you even believe yourself?

I keep my silence.

2. You’re coping with your problems in a perfectly healthy way.

How many bottles of wine did you drink last weekend?

How many pills did you take?

You’re an alcoholic/drug addict. You function well enough that very few people suspect that you only sleep when you’re so drunk you can’t stand up. You only laugh when you’re so high that you can smell colors. You only relax when you’re totally numb.

What happened to you to make you like this? That’s a secret you won’t tell me. You can’t tell me, because it requires you to acknowledge that you’re spiraling out of control.

Life is a grand adventure and you’re thrilled to be living it. That’s what you say, right?

Everyone drinks. Recreational drugs don’t matter. You’re in complete control.

I leave home in the middle of the night to pick you up and drive you home, so you won’t kill yourself or anyone else. I clean you up when you party so hard that you make yourself sick.

I tell you everything will be okay.

1. It’s not you. Honest.

You didn’t pick your family. You can’t help that your boss is neurotic. You can’t choose who you fall in love with. Life isn’t fair, so you’re entitled to do what you want, take what you want, hurt who you want, ignore who you want.

You’re special.

You’re different.

In the middle of the night, staring in the bathroom mirror, you tell yourself this and you believe it. It helps you get out of bed the next day. It helps you survive.

But maybe, just maybe… it really is you.

Maybe, just maybe… it really is me.

To him that you tell your secret you resign your liberty.

~ Anonymous

In the end, maybe I keep your secrets for the simple reason that your sins allow me not to think of my own. Your fate is in my hands. Your future and happiness are mine to destroy.

Maybe you choose me, not because of my compassion, but because you saw my cowardice. Maybe you recognize a kindred spirit. I don’t know what you saw in me. I don't know why you told me what you did. I'm sure you had your reasons.

That secret is yours to keep.


This entry was written in response to the therealljidol Challenge 10: You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Topic Is About You. There will be voting for this week's entries. I will make sure to link to the poll once it is put up and I would appreciate it if you would vote for me if you enjoy my entry. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Comments

[thndrstd.livejournal.com]

This is a great entry. Very well-written. Thanks for sharing.

[bewize.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. :)