Closed in Never Say Never

I have been reading the final draft of a friend's memoir. It's an incredible story and I can't wait for the world to see it. You, Tinkle and Bob, will be the first people I send it to.

Sitting on my couch, a few chapters in, I began to have a panic attack. Not the kind that causes me to hyperventilate and cry, but my thoughts were this: "This is too much. I am too uncomfortable. I should kill myself."

I texted her: "Your book is very vulnerable."

But what I wanted to text to her is: "Your book makes me want to kill myself."

She and I went for a walk-and-talk yesterday and I told her this. I told her that I cannot imagine a scenario where I reveal myself to the world the way that she is about to. That I cannot imagine living among friends and family after exposing my thoughts and feelings and behavoirs the way that she is about to. That her words are so raw and so vulnerable and SO MUCH. And, of course, because I have trouble sometimes discerning where I end and my friends begin, I freaked out. If I'd written the kind of memoir she'd written and it was about to go to press, I'd think, "Dear God, there is only one way out of this mess -- and that's to kill myself."

She reminded me that one time I told her that I felt like she was a turtle without a shell and said that she felt like she and I are two ends of a spectrum: She is that overexposed creature without any protection from the elements, and I am living in an underground war bunker (my words) or maybe, to keep with the animal theme, I am a hedgehog (also my words).

It surprised me to hear my closest friend say this. She's the person whom I spend the most time being honest and open with. She's the person who I feel like at this point, besides my friend Mary who has known me since I was 18 years old, knows me best. And she thinks I am on lockdown.

Last weekend the BF had a party. There was this woman there, a woman who was the friend of one of his friends from out of town. I didn't spend any time with her, but the BF did, and when he came to bed he told me her story -- a tale of being married just three months before finding out her new husband had not only cheated on her but gotten the mistress pregnant and was planning on raising the baby with the mistress but wanted to stay with the wife. It's a real sad story, but all I could think is, "WTF is someone you just met telling you something so personal? What is wrong with this woman that she cannot keep her business to herself and feels compelled to share it with a stranger AT A PARTY?"

The BF also thinks I am on lockdown. And so did the photographer. And so did the hippie. Can so many people I try to get close to be so wrong?

Well, no, I guess not. But the biggest trouble I am having with all of this is that I simply can't imagine it another way. I don't understand the BF's request that I open up more. I truly don't know what that means. I don't know what it looks like. If I can't look it up on Wikipedia or YouTube, how am I going to figure out what to do? If I can't visualize it, how can I live it? WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW?