I M Perfect lady

“The mask you show the world is nothing compared to who you are beneath.”

 

As I went to bed last night, I wondered about this blog, whether I had the right to publish everything that happens to me.

 

There are no names of my siblings or parents, just mine.

 

I am not certain what you are allowed to use when you write your biography, but what I have printed here are real actual words, not made up ones.  I quote them, but not their names.  To me that leaves them anonymous.

 

Confidentiality is a secret that is just between the two of you. 

Not to be made public or shared with a certain group, or a certain group keeps it confidential.

 

That word really bothers me, for mostly I have experienced the bad side of that, the lopsidedness of how it protects one individual and how the other person isn’t allowed to say the truth.

 

It becomes a vehicle where an unsavory individual gets to remain unmasked.

 

Confidentiality was used as a mask to hide behind with my parents in so many ways.  It was to their best interest that a certain group of kids remain in the dark.

 

Perhaps that is why full disclosure suits me now. 

 

My mother gave me my ‘inheritance’ check and said to keep it confidential.  Why?  Did the rest not receive theirs, were the amounts not equal?  It wasn’t for my good I remain silent; the check immediately became tainted and conditional.  She may have wanted me to feel special, but at what cost to the others? 

 

I think there are mutual places of confidentiality where intimacy, love and trust agree, where two people are both honored by it.

 

It is the darker side of confidentiality that bothers me. 

 

When they ask for my confidentiality, I become the keeper of their secrets, the strings that hold the mask in place; it becomes my job to make them into something that they are not.

 

Behind our agreed upon contract, they get to remain hidden, while I fearfully keep silent, knowing.

 

Knowing it is up to me to keep their façade alive.

 

I have the power to tear off the façade, to destroy the mask of nice, to expose the truth that lies beneath. 

 

Fear keeps you holding it in place.

 

Fear that you too are no longer who you say you are, for you are now an accomplice to the crime.

 

Who are you now and who are they really?

 

When I broke our sacred contract of confidentiality, I became the monster.  I was the one who dared speak of what lay beneath the mask of mom of dad.

 

I feel like I am a monster to my sister too.  I feel she wants me to hold her words as secrets, a special place between us, yet they fester there, they hurt me. 

 

How can her own words hurt her when they are aired?

Is that possible?

 

I am confused again.

 

That seems insane that your own words can come back and hurt you if they are not kept silent?

 

Can I really hold them away from you?

Will me keeping them silent have the power to protect you?

How does that work?

 

When your words leave you, they are intended for another, what are your intentions?

 

There seems to be an energy or intention that is attached to messages and words, a hidden desire, what is yours?

 

When you pop into my world after so many years of silence, it in intrigues me to know why?

 

When our family broke open we were pulling in opposite directions, while I was determined to keep them unmasked, you were diligent in holding the masks in place.

 

Where do we stand now?

 

No fancy words are needed our actions speak for us.

 

Perhaps this open forum isn’t for you and your words, I understand, but this space has brought me much peace and clarity, this place holds my sanity.

 

Its only requirement I wear no mask.

My mask was insanity.