For all of my bravado and audacity, I only show people about 70% of what I really am. I usually say what I am thinking, but always know, I’m holding back just a bit. Inside, I am usually repressing some feeling or thought that I think it’s safest to leave unspoken. Safest for me. I am generally, not concerned about how it will make me appear to most of the population, but I have gotten so used to agreeing to do things I really don’t want to do that it’s only a rare few that gets the gritty truth. I have probably only revealed romantic interest in 5% of the men to whom I’ve actually been attracted. It’s much safer to not step out on that limb. This I have learned the hard way. I am not a heart on my sleeve kind of girl with my emotions, except those of the pissed off variety, but even those, I often tamp down – it’s usually not worth the uproar. But for sure, sadness, disappointment, unrequited love – those will remain on the down-low, controlled and only displayed to a select few, no matter how raw or painful.
I often wish I could have grown up a crazy one. The one who drinks daily, smokes weed, snorts, shoots up, doesn’t work, sleeps, mooches, disappoints, but most importantly, does so with reckless uncaring abandon – regarding those who care for them. I would love to just give in to insanity and blame all of my problems, failures, insecurities on some one thing or person. The idea of just sitting in a mental hospital on drugs and telling people what they want to hear is appealing. Unfortunately, at some point they’d see through my ruse. They’d know I’m no more crazy than the next man or woman. The ironic thing about this, I am pretty sure I”m in the majority.
Incoherent Ramblings 
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