Definition of skeleton in the/(one’s) closet:
An embarrassing or shameful secret
~ Via The Free Dictionary
I have plenty of skeletons but there probably isn’t much I haven’t shared on here already. My whole life feels like an embarrassing secret a lot of the time and if I’m not careful this post might take a dark downturn which I don’t really have the energy for.
Certainly my most shameful secret in life is knowing what my last long term relationship put me through, the horrible things he said and did that I put up with because I didn’t know what else to do. So you can see why I don’t want to dwell on that bullshit. Not today, Satan.
I suppose this very subject matter opens me up to a more serious post and that’s cool. I can do serious. I can also do naughty – one of my most recent skeletons is that after an entire adolescence too terrified to shoplift, I’ve worked out a way to ‘beat the system’ in a certain chain shop. It’s not something to be proud of but I can’t deny accidentally not paying for a packet of crisps every now and again gives me a buzz. Sorry mum, your daughter is a fledgling criminal mastermind these days.
Maybe my biggest current skeleton is how much I hate on myself sometimes. When I’ve burnt myself out and I’m exhausted and anxious, I’ll turn every negative feeling back on myself and I genuinely can’t function. I’m very good at hiding this side of myself though these days I’m more inclined just to be honest about it.
The other day I was supposed to go and see the Gay Men’s Chorus and when the time came, I just couldn’t face it. I was about to feed the organiser a whole speil about why I wasn’t coming but decided to be honest instead. It turns out that not only did he understand, he also often feels this way himself. So from now on it’s decided, I’m not going to lie – if I don’t feel like it, I don’t have to do it. A lesson finally learnt, god knows how many years late.
Taking about honesty, I worry an awful lot about my friendships, too. I know I have great fulfilling ones but I worry, based on past experience that I’m very easy to live without. A friend who’s good to have around but is ultimately forgettable. What a horrible thing to believe about yourself though, right?
Sometimes I even worry that the little gifts I like to give people to make them smile are secretly my way of buying affection. I don’t think that’s true and I hope I’m wrong but there we are.
There we have it: my skeletons are the scars from another life, self-hatred, shoplifting and paranoia, in no particular order. Oh and sometimes I like to pick my nose, I have a crush on Danny Trejo and I’ve never seen The Godfather.
Pure shame on all counts.
Have you got any skeletons of your own?
*Not you, Danny baby.