Boxing

Oh, by the way. That whole opening up and coming out the submarine, real-me in the real-world? Didn't work.

People didn't want it, didn't like it. Wouldn't accept it, even, in some cases.

One friend, I told her how I was feeling about something. "Aw, poor you, you're having a bad day".

Actually, I said, I feel like this all the time.

"No," she said. "Not you. I know you don't feel like this. You are strong, you sail through difficulties that would floor other people. You don't get tired, you don't get down, you never lose your confidence: it's amazing".

I am less interesting when I am ordinarily flawed and a bit crap. I imagine there were sound reasons why I headed down the Little Miss Capable route in the first place. The feeling of extreme discomfort I have experienced, the snail out of its shell, the un-dressed open wounds, that vulnerability - it has not been outweighed by the creation of more meaningful connections. There was little reassurance to be had that I would not have my eyes pecked out by the birds.

Indeed when I have been at a very low ebb, people step back - rather horrified. I see myself shrivel and diminish there and then in their eyes. And when I'm feeling great, I'm bubbling over, enthusiastic, chatting on and on, rubbish in a different way. Unfocused, talking too much and too quickly, grinning, hands flying around: childish.

It's obvious, I suppose. The people I know, they know the Me that I created, and that's who they like.

So everything is going back into the boxes. Double-boxed and locked down. And henceforward, I will announce to anyone who asks that I am FINE and everything is a breeze.

Some of us know that FINE is actually an acronym for Fucked-up, Insecure, Needy and Emotional, but let's not let the rest of the world into that secret.