It isn't easy.
I once told someone that I kept secrets from myself. They really didn't like this idea. They thought I was lying to myself. That the only issue was the decision as to whether or not keep secrets.
But the issue is a totally different one.
The issue is self-deception.
I don't understand myself. I seriously suspect there are things going on in my mind that I am most minimally in contact with.
I can feel the bubbling. The vague aching.
I know there are things hurting me, truths weighing on me, that I'm not yet able to face.
My consciousness, in many ways, is corrupt.
I am not artistic enough. I am not expressive enough.
I've got deep dark secrets of the most trivial nature.
I'm largely happy.
But I know I'm failing to be honest with myself.
Because the words won't come.
The words won't come.
I feel these insecurities, these pains, these deep dark feelings.
But they aren't words. They are feelings.
And as soon as I try to make them into words they hurt too much.
I keep secrets from myself because I'm not strong enough to tell myself certain things.