I’ve grown up to be an independent person. I know I may rely on people around me a lot but in the long run, if I had to I can be on my own. There is no one in my life that I can tell everything to. Yes that’s normal, but at the same time it’s not. My friends and family, both on seperate spectrum of my life. They both know different things about my life that the others don’t. Everyone takes things differently, what might be okay to one person may not be to another.
Being raised in a strict family, there were always things that I coult not tell my parents. Because everything was wrong, there was so much that I couldn’t do. Even things that were normal among other kids, were forbidden for me. Becuase of this, I had a seperate life that they don’t know about. When I hear about people around me that are able to talk to their parents of anything, I get jealous. I want to have that kind of relationship with them. I want to tell the truth about how my night went. I want to tell them where I actually am when they call me. I’m never doing anything that is majorly wrong. I want to be close with my parents. It has only been recently that I’ve been close with my mum. She started telling me about stuff that’s been going on and I’ve been there to listen and ask if she’s alright. But really, when it first started, I was confused on how to react since we’ve never been that closed before. I would like to be able to tell her the same kind of stuff, and not be able of getting in trouble. I want to tell her about boys, and my body and be comfortable with it.
My friends know the most about me. Of course, some know more than others, and some know stuff the other don’t. I love them all equally as much, but there are just some stuff they won’t understand. These are the people that choose to be with me, they are not family and are not forced. They love me the way I am, and are able to be truthful with me whether I like it or not.Then, I feel bad when I think of the things that I’m not able to tell them. There are some stuff that I am embarrassed about. Stuff that I have never told anyone, because I’m afraid of the reaction. I don’t want sympathy, I just want to forget it. But still I don’t want to be alone with this feeling. Am I being selfish for wanting to share my pain? Or am I being self destructive for bottling all these bad memories and thoughts in?
I don’t know if I will have enough courage to eventually tell anyone. To find anyone ever being worthy to tell everything to.
I fear of getting judged for the past.