My Secret

Earlier today I posted a blog about a website called PostSecret.com. My mom and I both said that we often find ourselves making our own secret postcards in our heads. I can think of so many things that people don't know about me (and most of them are things I won't mention on this blog because of the people who read it). There are some of them that I wouldn't mind putting up here (I fear that if some of my friends knew everything about me and then viewed me beside one of my other friends (or sisters for that matter) they wouldn't want to be friends with me anymore) because I know that the people who read this will either not care (as most won't have anything to do with anyone who reads my blog) or they'll just deny it (whether or not it's true).

Tonight I am going to take my blog off of search engines. That way only people with the direct link to my blog can read it. The reason is because there are some people that just have very little to do with my life that I don't think I want reading this blog anymore. I am pretty sure that one of the people I am thinking of has only found my blog by search engines so far and has not actually saved the page so that they can come back to it.

But back to the point of this blog entry.

I wanted to post one of my secrets tonight. I've spent all day thinking about events that revolve around this secret and I would really like for someone to know why I've been upset all day (I don't know if anyone who has seen me today will actually read this, but whatever). This secret is something that I think about often and usually gets me very upset. It's very personal and it has caused me a lot of heartache.

I wrote a paper in my eighth grade Creative Writing class about my relationship with my dad. At the end of the paper I had written a letter to him that said that I was pretty positive I would never show him what I had written. When I got the paper back my teacher told me that it had made her cry and I got one of the highest scores in the class. I was extremely proud of the paper and I thought that the feeling I got from having someone else praise my writing was worth the pain that it caused to write it. A few months later I got up the nerve to show the paper to my dad. I emailed it to him as a father's day present and told him to read it. He did and then called me. I can't really remember what he said about it. I know that reading it had affected him but I don't know why.

I thought that showing my dad my thoughts and my pain from the past few years might make things better. Maybe he just didn't know how much I was hurting. Maybe he just didn't know how much he was hurting me. When he called me I was hopeful. He'd had to leave his office after reading the paper and that was when he had called. I thought that maybe it had made a difference. Maybe things were finally going to get better. Maybe they were going to be the way they used to be. I was hopeful that day. I was so happy. It made things even better that we were going to my dad's house for the weekend. It was to be the start of something good. My new relationship with my dad.

I don't know how I could have thought any of those things now. I'm over a year older and a year wiser. It's surprising just how much has happened in the last year. I won't go into detail but I will say that I discovered a lot about myself and the people around me.

Needless to say my paper didn't change anything. My dad had read how I felt. My deepest thoughts and unguarded emotions had been shown to him on paper. He just didn't care, whether it was purposely or not. Things didn't change at all. We didn't talk about it other than that one phone call. It was as if someone had completely erased his memory about it. I should have known enough about him by then to know that anything I said would not make any difference. He couldn't change. He still can't change.

Since then I have pretended that nothing is wrong. I don't talk to him much anymore. I never say much more than "nothing much", "yup", or "nope" to him anymore. He doesn't know me. I doubt he ever will. He knows what I look like and he knows what my interests were up to about the middle of eighth grade, but he'll never know how much the past year and a half has changed me. He'll never know what my true hopes and dreams are. And, though he may know that I'm hurt because of it all, he'll never know just how much I hurt inside. He'll never know how much I wish things were different.

When I showed my dad that paper I was hoping that things would go back to the way I thought they had been. What I didn't realize at the time was that things never were the way I saw them. It was inevitable that one day I would realize that, even though I was so happy with the way things had been with my dad, it hadn't really been a happy situation.

I don't tell people things like that anymore. I don't talk to people when I have problems with them. I try not to hope that something I might say will change things. That's my secret.

I can't say that writing this has eased the pain at all. I can't say what purpose writing this blog actually had, but it took up some time. Maybe it will help some people to know me a little better. Maybe not. Oh well. I just decided that I would write about one of my more meaningful secrets and here it is. Maybe someday I'll actually get up the nerve to make and send one of the secret postcards I have visualized in my head, maybe not. Maybe. . .

Maybe it doesn't matter.