It doesn’t come easily, this living honestly malarkey.
I can tell you that my fingers are in such a bad state that I’m wearing gloves to hide the damage. I pick them you see. And when I’m particularly anxious, they get destroyed.
And every single time I open up a little bit more to my friends I breathe a huge sigh of relief that they are still around afterwards. I can’t describe how intensely I worry about people’s reactions to my ‘weirdness’. I am truly grateful each and every time I tell my small group of friends something and they don’t treat me like I’m an untouchable. I couldn’t manage without their support, you guys hopefully know who you are-thank you.
I suppose it’s not just living honestly with others, it’s also about living honestly within myself too.
By letting memories, feelings and emotions in, I’m opening up a whole new world of pain. It must be fairly major otherwise I don’t suppose I’d have tried to bury it for 30 years.
I experience things physically and intensely. I begin to feel detached. I can often want to laugh. I realise now I’m moving into dissociation when I get to the laughing stage. It’s my mind saying I can’t cope and I need distance. And yet I can’t move forward unless I tackle things head on. That’s exhausting. And it happens every single day at the moment.
I experience the most intense muscle pain too. I was once told they were growing pains. Clearly that can’t be true. I’ve since discovered that it’s relatively common to experience these symptoms for someone with my background. It does hurt a lot.
Being honest and living honestly isn’t without its cost. I can totally understand why and how many people choose not to pay that cost. It’s so hard. I suppose if it were easy I’d have done it long ago.