Tag Archives: honesty

Poetry

Upbraided

I see a couple through the plate glass windows of a social hall on the bottom level of a dorm.

She is combing and braiding the hair at the back of his neck, 
her fingers working through a small section of it.

Though their eyes don’t meet, 
they are connected by this intimate act

And I want to cry

For their bond 	
	
	and bonds broken, 

For the simple 
	
	when things have gotten so complicated,

For the trust inherent in the running of fingers through one’s hair – 

and the pain in knowing someone else is doing it
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Identity, Mental Health

Mental Miranda Rights

Blog.  Web log.  Log of Thoughts and Happenings.  Journal.

When one connects the dots, it becomes apparent that writing a blog is essentially opening wide the pages of one’s journal and allowing the world to read.

There are certain thoughts or musings I keep between the covers of my hardcopy journal, but since I’ve started blogging, I do frequent those pages fewer and farther between.

It’s interesting seeing people whom I know read my blog.

Have they read the latest post chronicling my latest neurosis?  When they ask how I’m doing, do they mean, are you stable?  Or have they not read and really want to know how things are going?  Do I update close friends on my true status or will I be repeating myself?  Do I allude to a topic I’ve covered online, thinking they already know the details?  Or am I assuming a steady readership?

I usually worry that I’m baring my soul to people with whom I’d never discuss such things in a face-to-face conversation.  And will they judge me for it?  Will they see me in a different light now that they know the brand of crazy I am?

We all struggle.  With something.  At some point.  There’s some crazy skeleton hanging in every person’s closet.  But most people don’t write about it and then post it on-line for the world to see (if they so choose).  I’ve never had a good poker face and I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve.  Perhaps I am just the sort of person who would share such details publicly.  But I’ve also always been the type of person who demands that you take me as I am.  I may obsess about whether you will or not.  And worry myself sick if you don’t, but at the end of the day, I am who I am.

So while I might wonder if that pause between words is you calling to mind my self-indicting ones, or if that quiet look is one of pity or concern, I cannot be anything other than truthful.  And there’s no sense pretending to be perfect because everyone knows that’s a lie straight out the gate anyway.  I’d rather be honest and flawed.

Just don’t hold it against me.

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