Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Skeletons Sometimes Surface

Got any skeletons in your closet? Who knows about 'em? Who should know about 'em?

I've got my fair share of skeletons.

Don't get too excited, I don't plan to out any of them here.

I'd be willing to bet that Liz knows every single one of my skeletons. Why? I've known her since I was nine; she was there when I shoved them in the closet. In most cases, she was helping me make room, holding winter coats and my cheerleading uniform while I shoved the scariest ones in the way, way back where no one would ever see them.

For the ones Liz missed, the ones I had to pack away without her, she's been filled in. I have to tell her. She's my second line of defense if a bony secret ever makes a break for it. Pity that she's a crap liar, but she's the best I've got.

What's amazing is that we didn't speak for five years, and she held onto all my secrets. She could have ruined me, yet my scariest skeletons remain intact, dusty, in the way, way back of my closet. That's dedication. Then again, I never told anyone that she...oops. One almost got away.

Is it wrong that Liz knows my deepest darkest secrets, and my husband may not? It's not that I have intentionally kept anything from Tim. In all honesty, every once in a while a random finger or ankle bone falls out of the closet while I am looking for something else, and he looks at me funny. Then I have to go, "Oh yeah. I never told you about the three days I spent in an Argententian prison?" Not because I was hiding it from him, but because when does that ever come up in conversation?

How much about your past are you required to disclose to your other half? Other than the standard past relationships-first love-disease-criminal record conversations in the beginning of the courtship, how much do detail do you get into? Do I need to reveal that in seventh grade I french kissed a boy who turned out to be gay because it may have an effect on my marriage?

I do know of couples who have disgusting disclosure policies. They tell each other everything about their past.

Ick.

I have absolutely no desire to know how many other women my husband has slept with or what kind of trouble he got into before he met me. Unless he's got some kids running around, I don't want to know.

You tell me - how many of your skeletons are you required to reveal to your other half?

3 comments:

  1. amen girl, i got a lot of punishment for disclosure when i was married...of course i married the wrong man, but still, there's a certain amount you share with your closest girlfriends and other things that you share with your mate. there's definitely a delicate balance, and it depends on how judgmental the other person is as well, some of us can take the goop along with the slop.

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  2. Nope, don't want to meet his skeletons and he certainly ain't seeing mine. Of course, that doesn't stop my parents :-/

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  3. I keep some to myself and it's not because I am scared of the repercussions. They aren't me because hopefully I evolved beyond that person.

    I spent six years out of the US doing things that young people do when given freedom in a strange exotic land (Spain-Morocco-France). When your family is twelve-thousand miles away you get a chance to experiment with just about anything you wish. I have tried to explain some things that have come up and she sometimes gives me a look that compels me to stop. Occasionally, now that we have been together almost thirty years, something comes up and I reveal something and it now perks her interest.

    I tried to explain my family to her when we met and she told me everybody thinks their family is nuts. After a few exposures to my family, all disasters, she told me that I was the only person she has ever met who's family exceeded the rumors. We haven't had any contact with my family since year two of our relationship.

    Every once in a while she doesn't believe me. I told her I was shoeless once in SF and shoved about half of a complete needle into my big toe, eye first during a hellacious weekend full of Dead concerts. We were messed up pretty seriously so I snapped the damn thing off and lived with it for a couple of days. Every once in awhile I feel it and I commented to her once that I could feel the cold in my "third eye", the needle. She didn't tell me but I could see it in her eyes; she thought I was lying my ass off. Then one day, a doctor messing with my hip, took a complete x-ray to see the extent of my arthritis. With her in the room the doctor said "Did you know you have about half a needle embedded in your big toe?"

    She now gives me a little more of an ear when I talk about my past. But she'll never know about that weekend in Tangiers and Fez. There are some things...
    Tony

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