I steer clear of telling. I can't come out with it. The outlandish truth of what I did. How can I reveal this to someone unsuspecting and expect not to be judged? With those who know my story I talk freely about everything, yet this is something I wish to remain only within my heart. I keep it under wraps because I don't want to shock or make anyone distressed, to be made a fool or a spectacle of. It's becoming harder to keep it hidden. Everyday I have to tell another untruth. Another fabrication of the truth. At best I am vague, but I can't just drop it on someone, especially now, after all these lies.
And now I found it easier to avoid people all together. It's not that I should be honest with everyone, the white lies I tell strangers I don't mind. But there are those I see time and again, have drinks with, share jokes, and even they don't know. They see my cheery side. And I kick myself for being a fraud. I can see, though, that my secrecy does me no favors. It probably makes worse my sense of being outlandish. It confirms to me that it might be abhorrent, my story, or that few can relate to it.
