I had a phone conversation this morning, and was asked to keep silent. To not project the truth. To not speak of events in my life that have occurred. When the reality is, it is my life. I lived it. I have every right to talk about it, sing about it, dance about it, or even write about it. That’s what people do, and for me, it’s survival. It is my outlet. I was taught as a child to express emotions creatively while in counseling, and that was probably one of the best things from childhood, that is still with me today. A creative outlet. For me, healing comes from talking it out, painting it out, singing it out, playing it out(piano), or writing it out. That is who I am.

What I can’t understand, is why people fear the truth so much. Why do people feel better sweeping things under rugs, verses facing them head on? I learned long ago, not to have secrets. And unfortunately despite having learned that lesson in my late teenage years, I still battled with it at the tail end of my marriage, but kept nothing completely inside. At times, I would be accused of having secrets, but they weren’t secrets, I told people about them. It was only a secret because I didn’t tell the one that deserved to be told.

In my life, there have been strained relationships because my honesty, and my blunt nature. It is more than some can handle. Some prefer to deny the truth. They refuse to accept that things are different than they appear. They would rather lie and manipulate people. They portray that their life is filled with sunshine, butterflies, flowers, and all the happy things instead of facing the truth, and accepting life for what it is. Yet they wonder, why their life is so miserable.

Those that fear the truth, and choose to live a life filled with secrets, despise me for this personality trait of mine. Meanwhile, I embrace it. It is what gives me peace. It gives me strength. Truth, consumes me. And I will dig, until it is revealed. A few will hate me for it, but many will respect it. Believe it or not, it is an honorable trait to have.

Perhaps this is what my purpose in life is. For I was once, a secret. The bastard child. The mistake. The outcast. The one on the outside, looking in. And just maybe, the fact that I entered this life a secret, is the exact reason I will leave it, with not a one. Perhaps, this is God’s plan for my life.

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