Earlier today I wondered about distinctions made between honesty and neediness. Perhaps the distinction can be derived in the motivation – people viewing themselves as victims fall prey to neediness and people viewing themselves as survivors are just being honest?
That sounds a bit more self-serving than I intended. I shouldn’t
probably even be worrying over these concepts. I’ve got good friends
that I can trust and depend on.
An integral distinction exists between survival and strength. Although
the two terms are in many ways interdependent, they are certainly not
synonymous. I survive. It’s what I know how to do. But strength is
another matter that seems to be intricately balanced with weakness. It
has to do with the ability to exercise voice and logic, and I lack that
capability far too often.
This kind of honesty leaves me feeling stained like fingertips from
the print of yesterday’s cheap newspaper. It’s what can keep me at a
distance from the people I care about. Because when you tell these
kinds of stories, you become something other than who you are – who they
thought you were. When you say all the things I could say – some of
which I’ve said here – you become the subject of a raised eyebrow – the
hushed voices upon your approach. Ultimately, you become the unhealthy.
The broken. And nobody wants to be with that person. People with
problems, even in the past, don’t make good friends or lovers. It’s a
stigma that keeps me from participating in too much self-revelation.
People only believe they want to know you, then mostly there is judgement followed by self-immolation.
Mostly, I wonder in these situations if people can recognize the
difference between honesty and neediness. I’ve certainly never been
looking for someone to fix me. Having never viewed myself as broken to begin with.
Thoughts like these are what simultaneously hold me here and keep me
running. They provide me with the realization that I’ve made it
through worse times, but making it through those times taints my future
possibilities as well.
I like who I am.
Even my flaws and inconsistencies.
I am that person as a result of everything that has come before.
I do not regret, therefore, any of my experiences.
And I don’t think I’m so fucked up –
Not any more or less than people who’ve lead relatively normal lives, I guess.
"Tere honthon ke kisi kone mein, hansi ke tarah, main mehfuz hoon
Teri aankhon ke chipe dard mein
Aansoo ki tarah, main mehfuz hoon"