The veil has been lifted. My anonymity has been compromised. Due to some recklessness on my part, Mr. Etiquette was able to find this blog through another twitter account of mine that was dumbly linked. I feel vulnerable and exposed. I feel like an onion that has been peeled down to its most fragile layers.
Do I overreact over the fact that my alter ego has been revealed? Truth be told, there aren’t all that many things so secret and sacred within this virtual home to my innermost thoughts and feelings that I wouldn’t tell my nearest and dearest at some point or another, when the timing was right.
But I wanted to be the one to call the shots, to have control over the timing. To be in control of when and how the story would be told. I am not a perfect person. This blog does not always reveal me in my most shining moments. It reveals me in pain, confusion, lust, and anger. It captures ecstasy, unbridled passion and joy, and most of all hope. It watches that hope come tumbling down.
No, what I regret most are the words I have vented here thinking the subjects would never read that I wrote in frustration and anger, from a place of pain and confusion. Mr. Etiquette, specifically, is no monster. He is not an evil man who deserves to have his heart broken again and again by me, just because his actions repeatedly break my heart. He is a good man with a loving and gentle heart. For whatever reason, we just keep clashing against one another. For many reasons, we just can’t move beyond the past, and forgiveness seems futile if we can’t forget enough to give each other a fresh start to accept each others love. We’ve both made our mistakes. Yet you don’t get to see his side of the story here, do you?
So that is my regret: breaking his heart all over again by reading words he was never intended to see. Hearing things I said about him he was never meant to hear. Finding out things about me that he was better off not knowing. Yet maybe, it helps him realize no one is perfect. He’s found all my cracks. Maybe it makes it easier for him to run to the hills like a big part of him has been tempted to do lo all these four months.
Regardless, I feel exposed, vulnerable and sad that my words not only have the power to inspire, to create solidarity, and to entertain, but to also pierce a heart, to cause confusion, anger, and pain that may never be fully healed. My words have the power to shatter a good man’s faith in me. That makes me ill to my stomach. Yet I guess that’s what I signed up for here.
From here on out, I will choose my words more carefully. Tell my story without getting so personal that it lacerates someone’s heart and soul. Who knows whose others eyes are watching and reading? And I still want to be able to wake up and look at myself in the mirror in the morning and be proud of this blog, be proud of the voice I share here.