We've all got them. The proverbial "skeletons in the closet."
Some of them are silly. Some of them are mild-mannered things, sort of lounging around in the background, threatening to be mildly embarrassing. Some of them pick their noses in the car, or drink milk directly from the container. Some of them scratch themselves for an hour after they go to bed, and some of them talk to themselves on the toilet.
Silly, silly skeletons in the closet.
Some of them are not so silly. Some of them loom over us, dark, sinister things, threatening to destroy the facade of being "just like everyone else." Some of them stomp around noisily in the background, as we attempt to go about our day, to smile, to be "normal." They moan and nag at us, as we drive to our jobs, as we drink our coffee, as we wash our dinner dishes. They search out each face, hoping for a kindred spirit, hoping for a way to break free and be known, be loved.
They keep us bound to them by secrecy and fear. They leave us lonely and isolated. They convince us there is no one on earth so twisted, strayed so far from society's norms.
They steal our sleep. They invade our thoughts. They threaten to isolate us permanently.
We spend a good majority of our time seeking out connection, and closeness in some form with those around us. We "poke" each other on Facebook, we update our statuses regarding our feelings, our experiences. We send out mass texts and emails, hoping for responses, hoping for a glimpse of the feelings or experiences of those in our circle. And yet, when it comes to the darker sides of ourselves, most of us guard those skeletons at all costs.
Even at the cost of feeling intense isolation and separation from the very people to whom we desire to connect.
What's left starts to feel somewhat superficial. So very on-the-surface. So very shallow.
I want to know for certain where I am safe.