This weekend the lights went out. In the depths of my melancholy i could not write.
I always give people that with which they could destroy me, should they
wish to do so. I tell my brother things that would get me into a lot of trouble were
he ever to tell one or both of our parents. I told Gasp that I was the one
who had powdered Lex's gym shorts so that they would burst into flames as soon
as his sweat caused sufficient moisture, knowing that she hated me. I told
Lex that I had gotten supervisor access to the network, and could change
anyone's grades should I choose to, knowing that he hated me for the infamous
gym-shorts-a'flame incident. I have a tendancy to tell people that which could
really ruin me.
I won't deny that some of it is bragging, of course. I told Gasp because
I knew that she would go and tell Lex, I told Lex because I wanted to to lord
over him my superiority. Yet in all of the above cases, there
were plenty of others whom I might have told, those who knew and respected me
and who I could trust would never get me into trouble.
A large part of it, then, truly is a compulsion to tell each person that
which they are most likely to use against me. With friends it's understandable;
it becomes a sort of trust-building activity, I'll open myself up to you utterly
to show that I trust you, and through such an outpouring of soul we will become
better friends. But such a truth-telling with enemies? It puzzles even me.
In some ways, nay, many ways, it is actually a more gratifying thing to confess
to one's enemies. As if I was handing them a gun and saying "Here is a gun, if
you truly hate me then kill me now, no one will ever know." And they
*never* do! I think it must catch them off guard, having someone
whom they hate suddenly hand over control of his fate so freely. And in my
experience, it has earned their respect and perhaps even friendship.
The puzzling part is when a friend and trusted confidant uses knowledge
begot of such confession againt one, even when in jest. There are those whom
i tell very personal things, only to find that they later kid me about it.
i wonder if, by being so open, i trivialize the importance of the truth and of
my faith in my friends not to reveal that which i tell them to others, or at
least to know what of my confidences are touchy matters which i would not have
told them of had i thought they would bring it up as a joke.
This which you are reading even now is just one more manifestation of my
wacky compulsion towards pouring out my soul to anyone who will listen, only
non-intruisionally. i would hate to inconvienance someone by coming to them
and telling them of my troubles; if you read this, i trust it is because you
wish to.
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