on openness

Perhaps I am a miscreation, No one knows the truth there is no future here, And you're the DJ speaks to my insomnia, And laughs at all I have to fear...- Dar Williams (Are You Out There)
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When did I become such an openbook for the world to read? I used to be so good, good at hiding my true feelings- I could smile and forget that which made me sad.

My dad dragged me to a therapist once.

It was the spring of my junior year of high school. It was a stressful time because I was about to be emancipated to have my sister and Ben as my guardians and my dad was about to move to Kansas. But it was more then that- while it seemed like I had a lot going on in my life; I'd just qualified to nationals in LD and been named student body president for the upcoming year- I was terrified to go to nationals, though. Because nationals were in Atlanta, and there was a man there who had decided he was in love with me, and that I loved him too, and that we should get married. I was 17... he was in his 50's, and a friend my mom's that I'd hardly spent any time around, except when I visited her a few different summers. The first time I met him my gut told me not to like him. He was a photographer and asked my mom if he could take my picture. I pretended to be asleep when he showed up to photograph me- and fortunatly he left. I've been uncomfortable around strange older men, ever since. My dad was concerned about the effect the situation would have on me; it was contained quickly, a restaining order was put in place, and my coach was fully aware to keep me close while I was in Atlanta for nationals. But I was still ill at ease. So he said he wanted me to go talk to a therapist- his therapist- and made me promise to go at least three times, and then after that she could decide if I needed to go back. I begrudgingly agreed- but had no interest in talking about my "problems" with some lady I didn't know.

So I didn't. I smiled and told her about all the exciting things in my life, and my future plans. She said she couldn't believe I was so well adjusted for the family past she was aware I had. After visit #3 she said I was fine, and sent me on my way.

She wasn't a very good therapist. But I guess she could only do so well with what I was willing to share.

And what am I willing to share? It's so much easier just to write it down for the whole world. It isn't directed to any one individual.. but it's out there, and I feel more at ease, in the end. But I've noticed anymore I'm not good at hiding my feelings. People at work keep telling me that I don't seem as happy as I used. David (who always pronounces my name "Nat-al-ee") told me I always seem angry or sad anymore.

I need to learn to contain myself, again. I need to remember that Smile anyway. What's the point of being sad? You don't gain anything from it. Sometimes tears and punches to walls are effective.... but usually it's not. Unnecessary sadness/anger is pointless. It just prolongs negativity.

I'm still naive enough to believe that everyone is good at heart.

Crazy, huh?