When you ask tough questions...

Please understand that you make me feel really safe, safer than I have in a long time and that is scary for me. It makes me want to be honest with you about my past and who I was, to let you know what I've really seen.

I don't tell anyone these stories. I may mention in passing, to explain a reaction, but I never give the dark details. I don't tell the stories because they hurt to hear. I don't because people don't look at me the same.


I appreciate that you haven't been asking me a lot of questions, and you've been letting me tell you things at my own pace. I know that it can be difficult to deal with some of who I am, because you don't know the back story. We've talked about it. I know that you don't need or want it.  You don't want the full back story just yet, and I don't want to subject you to it unnecessarily.

Sometimes, when we're discussing the odds and ends of our lives, I talk about people, and I can see you cringe. I think it's because you can probably read me well enough by now to know that they aren't really how I describe them, and that I'm giving you the sugar coated version.

You remind me now and again that after a month, the stories I have to tell are a little much, and I know that. I hesitate to tell you too much of it because I get nervous that you'll run for the hills, or that I'll cry.

I'm hesitant to tell you any of it, because it makes me want to tell you all of it and none of it all at once.

You said that you have a list of words in your head, a thought cloud of things that you expect that I'll tell you about one day.  I'll try to keep the information to small doses, both for your sanity and mine, but please remember that I'm always honest with you, and that sometimes when you ask tough questions, the answers aren't pretty.