Beneath the Questions and the Secrets

Understanding people is a life-long learning experience. What makes them tick? Why do they do certain things? How do they feel?

Questions. Constant Questions. And constant secrets.

Secrets are little, white lies that are just waiting for the proper time to be exposed. Secrets can sometimes make or break a person.

Over the past few months, I’ve become increasingly optimistic about things. I haven’t let things get me down and I have just gone with the flow on most things that life has thrown at me.

That is, up until this past week.

I graduated college and immediately I got an amazing dose of reality. Everything that I didn’t want to go wrong went wrong. And just like that, the optimism that I poured out of my soul and onto the people around me became a cloud of confusion and terror.

Family Issues: Of course, when isn’t there and issue there? I can say that my mother and my sister are the only two people I trust with every fiber of my being; not to knock on my friends of course, but there’s a certain closeness that can only be described as “a relationship of survivors.”

Boy Issues: There’s always someone who digs at me and always someone who confuses me. Always a reason for me to shake my head and ask, “What exactly am I doing wrong here?”  There’s always that painful thought in the back of my head that reminds me that I may be alone forever.  Whether or not that is an exaggeration is yet to be determined at this point, but from the looks of it, odds are not in my favor.

My optimism is running dry. My mother just asked me if I ever planned on being myself again. Truthfully, I don’t even know who that person is right now. So I don’t know how to answer her.

And there you have it, the problem I need solved; the reason for the secrets and the questions: I need answers.

But I still don’t know what questions I’m supposed to be asking. If I got these answers, perhaps I could be the bubbly, pain in the butt that I usually am. Dealing with problems has been a constant part of my life; everyone knows my father abandoned me and everyone knows my best friend from high school died.

But what people don’t know is the inflicting ways that I dealt with these situations.

People constantly think that other people do not understand. While that may be true in some cases, one may be surprised at how much people can identify and understand issues.

I went through a series of phases between the ages of 16-19; I was trying to figure out exactly where I fit in with people.  Anyone that knew me in high school will tell you that I was a bit bigger in my high school years than I am now.

Well, that’s because I was depressed and angry over being abandoned, so I ate.

I ate because food was there and I ate because I felt like, it’s as simple as that. I didn’t know why I was so depressed about the issue because all my parents did was fight anyway.  I had to break up the fights. I had to sit at the top of the stairs and make sure that everything was okay. Perhaps food was a way of silencing myself so that I wouldn’t let anyone know what I was feeling, because like many people, I was determined to believe that nobody would understand.

Like I’ve said before, I met someone who understood, and she died.

The next year and a half were that of a certain hell for me. For one thing, I was determined to lose weight, so I worked out all the time.

But I also didn’t eat that much either.

If that wasn’t enough, I went through this phase of wanting to drink heavy amounts of alcohol so that I could forget anything that had ever happened in my life.  I was a freshman in college, so I thought drinking was normal.  A bottle of Blue Wave here, some Vladdy there and maybe a bit of After Shock, just to see how things would turn out.  I always had a ride, so I never cared how much I drank, just that I drank enough to forget.

And then there were boys.

Buff boys, country boys, Latin boys, nerd boys.

Well, I can proudly say I’m a virgin. Yeah, that’s right; you didn’t misread.

But back in this time of hell, I tried literally everything to get rid of my virginity, and I mean everything.  I put myself in compromising situations on purpose and I didn’t care.  I just wanted to lose it. I wanted it gone, as if it was some old pair of jeans that didn’t fit anymore.  I wanted it to go away.

I guess I could say that luckily the boys I put myself in compromising situations with weren’t as eager to sleep with the depressed, damaged girl.

But, here I am, two years later. Am I sad now? Yes. Will I survive? Yes.

I was born to survive. And there’s my answer.

Secrets. We all have them, and it’s absolutely frivolous to isolate yourself into thinking that no one else around you has them. I still have some secrets left to tell; I only would share these with a select few people.  In the words of Lady Gaga, “We all fight and we all love the same.”

We do. We all do.

So the next time you sit at a dinner table with someone, and you’re sad and you think, “They have no idea what I’m going through….”

Perhaps you should think again, because maybe, just maybe, they have secrets too.

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