…except really, that would be about me. It’s just the first song that popped in my head, despite not being any hardcore Madonna fan. [br][br] I have always considered myself to be fairly open and honest, and yet here I am every day learning just how secretive I really am, just how many subtle lies I tell, just how many personalities I fabricate for the world to imagine as being me. A friend of mine wrote me the other day responding to my news about being Borderline, and she said basically that it upset her to hear a Dr diagnosing me as such, as she can’t see how I could possibly fit this diagnosis. It then just dropped on me like an anvil: even people I’ve known for the last 17 years have no idea who I can be, what I’m capable of, what thoughts I have. [br][br] I’ve started opening up and being more honest with George. If anyone deserves to know the real me, it’s him – he needs to know what he’s committing himself to. And I keep finding myself astonished at how understanding he really is. Because I never really trust anyone does understand me. Even when theoretically I think perhaps people are understanding, really I can’t believe it. I keep these thoughts and feelings to myself, imagining they seem normal. Then the instant I start saying them aloud to someone I suddenly realise how insane they sound – maybe that’s why I’ve been hiding them for so long. But there are those around me, some old, some new, who are inspiring in their honesty. Okay, perhaps it’s to the degree that others might misjudge them, brand them mean or rude or too sarcastic or crazy. I, though, think it’s beautiful to see people freely and honestly say exactly how they feel, even the ‘bad’ things. It breaks down these ideas of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ and shows a lack of shame about who they really are. I keep striving for this same lack of shame, but sometimes I just get met with this big wall. I don’t know what’s holding me back. Sometimes I’m brazen, sometimes I’m retreating into a darkened corner of my own mind, and I think perhaps it’s again the double-sided nature of who I am. I feel like I’m unintentionally duplicitous. [br][br] So perhaps I’m deceitful, even to myself, without ever meaning to be. Perhaps I really am a scheming manipulator who lies and twists things to suit her own fantasy world, and keeps vital information from those around her in order to spare feelings – particularly feelings of anger toward myself. But then again…maybe I’m a sweet, good-natured, loving woman with a great capacity for warmth and care. How am I to know? And what’s more: which would I prefer? Does there even need to be a choice? Why do I need to make such a decision? Why NOT be both? What really makes one the opposite of the other? Is it simply language, like the Deconstructuralists claim? Why should I fear sharing the things I’ve been hiding for so long? And then again, why not? [br][br] What am I even talking about, now???