I have been incredibly bad at writing here recently. For a lot of reasons. The two big ones have been: 1) I haven’t had anything to say because/but 2) it’s hard.
In college, I had a really good friend, who knew me quite well much better than most anyone. Because life got busy we ended up drifting apart for no reason other than the fact we did. I’ve been lucky enough to reconnect recently.
It’s surprising how well you can know someone, or how well they can know you but simultaneously know so little. I am an incredibly private person, and I keep so much from even my closest friends. Sometimes I have moments when I realize how few people really know me. There’s actually only one person I have ever been completely honest with. I’m not much of a liar anymore, but I do with-hold far more than I ever tell.
The friend I’m referencing, we met in college. I had a very different college experience than most people for so many reasons I’ll eventually get around to writing about someday. Now it’s just too hard, and I’m still preparing myself to have that past in writing – something that never goes away. Over the years, we kept tabs on each other, and she read my blog. This and the things I write about here seem like a completely different person than the me she knew in college, and I’m sure it’s vastly different than the me people see today. She and everyone else see a bubbly extrovert with a happy-go-lucky personality, but that is because it is a facade I have taken great care in curating for just over 26 years now in ranging amounts of vigilance. I’ve done so because I learned people don’t ask questions when there’s a smile, a giggle, a happy face. When someone is quiet or a multitude of other-than-happy people ask questions like why? Once I start talking about the whys, I can’t stop crying. It’s a dark hole when explored is emotionally devastating to crawl out of. Sometimes, it takes days to go back to a functional version of myself let alone the well curated facade people enjoy being around.
College was hard. After three years, I think I’m finally just starting to process how difficult it was for and on me. I don’t think anyone will quite understand what those four years entailed because they always saw the happiness and laughter and the jokes about the brief moments of honesty I bestowed upon them; they were never behind the closed door with me. The hard times were only ever shared with one person, and I can’t begin to imagine what they went through with me. We’re both finding our own paths toward healing and wholeness because of those years.
Visiting with my friend, the past came up. I realized for as much time as we spent together during our friendship I never really let down my walls. She knew and still does know so much about me, but she never knew any of the difficulties I went through before we met or even while we were in college together. It’s amazing how much we can hide from those close to us. Although, I’m not sure I did either one of us a favor with my secrecy.
I’ve almost always been open about my past when asked, but I have not necessarily gone out of my way to make people aware of it unless they absolutely needed to. Actually, I tend to downplay every bad thing, and I tend to side step the really bad even… especially here. It makes my life so much easier. Let’s be honest no one wants to be the raped girl.