all my life i have kept secrets about my life from everybody, particularly my family. i dont understand why i am so ashamed to admit the acts of incest, violence and abuse that i suffered, and caused, from the people who were right there with me when it all happened. why is admitting it or referring to it so damn scary. i didn't even tell my family that i'd been raped, they found out by accident from an online journal. why am i so happy to tell the worlds about my sordid past but not the people who care about me? it's not as though i dont want them to see me as fucked up as i am. if everybody knew about my past, then i would be treated better perhaps, and i would be so depressed. i cant tell people that i am so depressed because i cannot admin the reason why.
and now, i am writing everything up in a new journal. a new journal which i will not share, under a name yhat doesnt sound at all like me. a new journal that hopefully will not appear in my internet history pages because i will delete them every day- i learnt that lesson years ago when my friend used my computer. she went to google to search for soemthing and a drop down meny came up automatically with all the searches i had done. the majority of them were searches for stories of incest and rape. she was totally suprised and taken aback, and it changed her view of me forever. had no explanation for it and we never spoke about it. i just tried to forget it.
why am i so keen to pretend i am forgetting, when some days, it is all i can think about.