kind of apt
Jun. 12th, 2010 08:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fingertroubleWhat you think is real
is layers like an onion peel
if you think you know me
then you really don't
dig deeper...
Circumstances elsewhere reminded me of this; bears periodic reminder that although I show a lot of myself publically, weirdly more than what most people do - this is an illusion. For every door there is another at the end of the hallway, and a lot of the intensely private stuff never gets shared publicly - or on filter. Weirdly the more important the thing is, the less likely I am to write it anywhere, including here. I just go quiet. A tendency not to post serious stuff here is another signifier of that - at least not publicly.
Reasons for this are manyfold, but the reason I was thinking about this was this song:
Check the mail box twice a day. The end of a long dirt road steamed open a couple envelopes like I was in private detective mode.
If you snoop around long enough for something in particular, you’re guaranteed to find it for better or worse. That’s how I learned it’s best to keep some things private
and
The best of times. The end of times.
I was always on deck. I was next in line.
An only child with a pen and pad, writing a list of things I could never have.
Walls in my house were paper thin.
The squabbles seemed to get deafening.
If my memories serve me correctly, I made it a point to void and forget some things.
Probably to keep from being embarrassed.
Never meant to upset or give grief to my parents.
Kept my secrets hid my talents in my head.
Never under the mattress.
Therapy couldn’t break me.
Never learn a word that could ensure safety.
So, I spoke softly then I tip toed off into the door to my room,
was like a big old coffin the way that it creaked when I closed it shut.
Anxieties peaked when it opened up.
As if everything that I was thinking would be exposed.
Basically my childhood described in one song with a few details different (no girlfriends, official therapy *hollow laugh* or the god-stuffs - there were other 'fun' things to deal with). A shy only* child with far too many secrets (mostly forced upon me or found accidentally, a few of my own) pushed from pillar to post by abusive mother and a father that wanted an easier life, hiding in my room.
This is why private things get clutched to my heart and rarely let outside, for fear of revealing too much...took me about 10 years to cope with my parent's divorce because of that...it's somI ething I deal with and let out a little more at a time, even on filtered or friends posts, reveal...podcasting was a part of that too, as is blogging.
All part of another, more longterm, coming out...
* Interestingly I always thought of myself as an only child, and was regarded as such by adults - but with two half sisters this strictly wasn't true - well officially. In reality I was an only child.
is layers like an onion peel
if you think you know me
then you really don't
dig deeper...
Circumstances elsewhere reminded me of this; bears periodic reminder that although I show a lot of myself publically, weirdly more than what most people do - this is an illusion. For every door there is another at the end of the hallway, and a lot of the intensely private stuff never gets shared publicly - or on filter. Weirdly the more important the thing is, the less likely I am to write it anywhere, including here. I just go quiet. A tendency not to post serious stuff here is another signifier of that - at least not publicly.
Reasons for this are manyfold, but the reason I was thinking about this was this song:
Check the mail box twice a day. The end of a long dirt road steamed open a couple envelopes like I was in private detective mode.
If you snoop around long enough for something in particular, you’re guaranteed to find it for better or worse. That’s how I learned it’s best to keep some things private
and
The best of times. The end of times.
I was always on deck. I was next in line.
An only child with a pen and pad, writing a list of things I could never have.
Walls in my house were paper thin.
The squabbles seemed to get deafening.
If my memories serve me correctly, I made it a point to void and forget some things.
Probably to keep from being embarrassed.
Never meant to upset or give grief to my parents.
Kept my secrets hid my talents in my head.
Never under the mattress.
Therapy couldn’t break me.
Never learn a word that could ensure safety.
So, I spoke softly then I tip toed off into the door to my room,
was like a big old coffin the way that it creaked when I closed it shut.
Anxieties peaked when it opened up.
As if everything that I was thinking would be exposed.
Basically my childhood described in one song with a few details different (no girlfriends, official therapy *hollow laugh* or the god-stuffs - there were other 'fun' things to deal with). A shy only* child with far too many secrets (mostly forced upon me or found accidentally, a few of my own) pushed from pillar to post by abusive mother and a father that wanted an easier life, hiding in my room.
This is why private things get clutched to my heart and rarely let outside, for fear of revealing too much...took me about 10 years to cope with my parent's divorce because of that...it's somI ething I deal with and let out a little more at a time, even on filtered or friends posts, reveal...podcasting was a part of that too, as is blogging.
All part of another, more longterm, coming out...
* Interestingly I always thought of myself as an only child, and was regarded as such by adults - but with two half sisters this strictly wasn't true - well officially. In reality I was an only child.