I have a confession to make. Actually I have a few confessions to make. But I’m not going to make them here. Sorry. Still, I don’t really owe you any do I – I mean you already know most of what I want to confess anyway…
The Miranda incident up at Oxford has really been playing on my mind. So much so that I’ve knocked Gina on the head. Well not literally. Actually unlike that client I messed about with last year this was a far easier process, partly because Gina simply took the ‘Your loss’ approach before storming out of my life forever. Mind you, hope I never see her in court.
Anyway nuff said on all that, this ain’t the confession I have to make.
The confession I ‘do’ have to make, when I finally make it, is to my way of thinking something that needs to be made. Why? Okay look if anyone like Miranda ever really, truly does walk into my life and stays, meaning she passes the loo test etc (and hell Gina just never would have okay because… well just because), then there are things I want her to know. In other words I can’t truly be me unless she ‘does’ know. It’s a simple as that.
Dropping my guard you see isn’t enough. Some of this great big lie would still be being lived. To know me is to be acquainted with the ‘Before’ as well as the now, and also what came in between. Otherwise you can’t really know me at all.
Sammie argues that’s just another test, and hardly a fair one either. Not that Sammie’s ever known the full tale herself. Only you do. But I was having this out with her, hypothetically, the other day. She’s one person who would get it you see, given her own adventures. Well maybe Joe would too but he’s married now and it’d be a low blow to put it to him in my book – he might not like his own answer for a start.
Anyway, Sammie’s opinion stands contrary to my own. As she sees, what happens in your own metaphorical Vegas… well you know the rest, so why put that burden on someone just for the sake it? Why chuck out every skeleton you’ve got in your cupboard and pile them onto someone else’s wheelbarrow just to salve your conscience? Surely, thinks Sammie, that’s a bit much.
“It’s like you’re daring them to walk away,” she said.
Don’t get Sammie wrong, she’s not advocating hiding those things a prospective serious partner ‘should’ know about; but do you really have to give them the whole darn litany of your private indiscretions and peccadilloes where no real harm was done before you can embark on that side by side canter into a beautiful sunset? Can’t we just let someone love us for who we are without sabotaging it through our own insecurity?
I guess Sammie’s got a point. I mean if somebody truly wants you, they’re gonna want you humungous warts and all aren’t they. Therefore emotional logic dictates I shouldn’t have to purge myself to her (whoever ‘she’ might eventually be) because she’s gonna be my lover not my priest, heck I’m not even Catholic!
Bastian Dash, BD, was just an online name that morphed into some new found offline confidence; I’ve played, I’ve dabbled, I’ve done wrong, I’ve done right, I’ve enjoyed and (occasionally) I’ve been burned. But that’s just life’s rich tapestry, just another sub plot on a planet full of stories. And who are we without our stories?
So if and when it happens I should hold back right? Sure the tales I want out there might still be told eventually. But they can trickle out a little more slowly as we ride along towards familiarity without contempt. It doesn’t really matter. It shouldn’t really matter. It won’t really matter.
Hmmm.
Okay, riddle me this; why am I not convinced…
By Bastian Dash
