The Secret

It was always funny to me how you could be one thing or another and never know it. It was really disturbing in one sense, how these huge parts of yourself could hide themselves from you, camouflaged behind the illusions of actually knowing yourself. Or perhaps it isn’t a lack of knowing yourself so much as being exposed to something or someone who helps you to recognize in yourself what was always there. Somehow going unnoticed, casually playing in the background of your life. And then once you meet it, see it, feel it, know it, you can’t go back, no matter how hard you try. We’re all guilty of attempting to do this, desperate attempts to stuff these feelings back into the cramped crevice they’d originated from, but we know it never works. We’re haunted by these feelings, by our true selves. It’s quite deranged, really. We spend so much of our lives seeking acceptance from others when often our biggest rejector are ourselves. How terrible is that? We seek acceptance and understanding, but when we find out that we no longer even fit our own ideal of ourselves we run the other way. Instead of running into the arms of our biggest secrets we shy away. Betraying and abandoning the truest parts of ourselves. Except there’s the irony, maybe we don’t keep secrets from ourselves at all, maybe we don’t not acknowledge our secrets purposefully, maybe they aren’t secrets at all. Maybe it’s the work of the Universe to keep these facets of who we are hidden from us until we’re ready to face them. Perhaps some are ready earlier than others, perhaps some are never ready. Perhaps I’m somewhere in the middle. Which, in truth, may be the worst place of all. Drifting in knowing and not knowing. Hanging in acceptance and rejection. Floating in courage and cowardice. There was no more certainty, I questioned it all. But I felt it and because I felt it I was burdened with the inability to forget feeling it and because I couldn’t forget feeling it, I sought it…relentlessly almost assuredly. If nothing else, I had to accept that about myself, that I couldn’t deny my feelings, my thoughts, my urges, who I was becoming.

With Love,

Brittni Pope


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