"Where is there dignity unless there is honesty?"
--Cicero

I place my fingers on these keys almost every day of the week, dulling the letters a bit more each time I write. Sometimes I write about sex, other times about emotions, some days even about politics. To paraphrase W. Somerset Maugham, I don't write because I want to; I write because I have to.

And yet, I'm afraid of writing. It's not that I'm afraid of showing my body - I don't have any reservations about placing my body on display, even though I don't believe it's worthy of attention and praise. I'm afraid of making myself emotionally naked. I'm afraid of you, any of you, knowing who I really am. I'm mostly anonymous online, and yet I have a hard time telling you the whole truth.

So, I'm about the interrupt the mystery. Here's the real Aine...

I'm not glamourous. I'm a real person, with real issues and real faults. I often don't wear makeup, or even brush my hair. I'm horrible at keeping the house clean, although I cry sometimes because it's such a mess. I'm a hopeless romantic, almost to a fault. I expect both far too much and far too little from people. I cry at Disney movies. I tend to fit into other people's lives instead of insisting they fit into mine. I'm not nearly as smart as I make myself out to be. I'm afraid of seeming silly, immature or stupid. People think they know me, but they usually know skillfully crafted versions of who I wish I was. I'm afraid of being alone, but I'm also afraid of being with someone forever. (I'm afraid I might get bored, I'm afraid they might get bored.) I have the horrific ability to destroy everything good and right in my life, unconsciously. I don't have it all together, but I hope to someday (though I probably never will). I hate myself sometimes, and have never really forgiven myself for anything I've ever done wrong. I tell white lies, and then feel awful about them. I had an affair while my husband was in Iraq, and I'm still ashamed to tell people how I met my soon to be husband. I'm afraid my daughter will turn out exactly like me. I'm still afraid, nearly three years later, that my fiance will stop loving me. I think he loves my pussy more than he loves me.

Life isn't always pretty, but I hope that airing those secrets will allow me to be on a little more level ground (both with myself and with you guys). I've had a lot of people say they envy me, that they envy my strength and ability to express myself. I wish that were so. I'm afraid to tell the truth, afraid that people won't like who I really am. And maybe they won't. But I'm starting to understand that that is REALLY ok! So please, readers, make your own lists. Tell the truth. Air your dirty laundry, tell people who you really are so that they can love and accept you as you and not as a character... I'll be the first to respond.

This entry was posted by Mellie, on Sunday, September 18, 2005.