I haven’t been writing in a while, and though that often happens due to work, this time I intentionally took a break because of a conversation I had with Ramiro.
Several of you have written me to thank me for being so open and honest on my blog. And in truth, the fact that I wanted to be open and honest about sexuality played a big part in my decision to start this blog. In spite of (or probably because of) the praise I’ve gotten, I wanted to sit down to talk about honesty. A conversation I had with Ramiro proved to be the catalyst I needed.
Some of you may have gleaned from my posts that I’m very candid about my blog to people I know in real life. Though at the moment I’m still anonymous online, from the very onset my friends have known about and read my blog. And that was a big part of why I wanted to start this blog as well—to open up to the people around me.
One person I personally know who reads my blog is Ramiro, the ex-boyfriend who has remained a very close friend over the years despite the break up. And as a result my honesty on my blog, he has discovered a few lies and half-truths that I told throughout our relationship.
I think the first time such a discovery came up was in one of my first posts where I mentioned a guy that I met in person for the first time out at a club. We headed back to my place and hooked up, but then we became close friends and spent a lot of time together while he was still living in Vienna. Knowing that we spent so much time together, Ramiro at some point asked me casually if anything had ever happened between us. This was long before I wrote the truth on the blog.
Since before Ramiro and I had gotten together nothing was going on anymore between this friend and me—nothing sexually at least. Occasionally I would crash at his place after a long night of board games and would sleep in his bed, but that was it. Really, it was completely innocuous, but rather than tell the truth, I assumed that Ramiro would think the worst if he knew my friend and I had had sex in the past since he also knew that we still slept in the same bed from time to time.
Rather than tell the truth I told a lie, presumably to protect Ramiro and to save myself from having to deal with the jealousy I egotistically assumed he would feel, when in fact all it did was eventually cause pain between us—not because of what the lie was about, but because it was a lie.
We recently had a similar discussion because of my post on my experience as an escort. I once told him a story about a female friend who had had a similar experience, and Ramiro asked me point blank why I hadn’t tried it. Except his question was more “Why didn’t you try escorting while you were living in that city?” Well, I had tried it prior to moving to that unnamed city, but didn’t feel the need to try it in that city. So I bent the truth a little and in lieu of admitting that I had indeed had such an experience, I opted to focus my answer on the one city in particular, phrasing my response in such a way that I honestly answered his question about that particular city. Thus, I didn’t really lie; but I also didn’t really tell the truth, either.
So why did I feel the need to lie? I suppose it was because of fear. Fear that I would be assessed based on societal norms. Fear that I would disappoint. Fear of possibly having to deal with the eventuality of hurting someone by being honest. In truth, none of these are good reasons.
If I can admit to myself that I don’t think or function in the same way that certain sections of society do but then can’t tell the truth about who I am for fear of being judged by those standards that I apparently don’t adhere to, then can I really claim to be living outside of those standards? If I hide who I am because I don’t want to prove disappointing to someone close to me under the assumption that they would judge me by society’s standards, then more likely than not I’m probably not free to be who I want to be, too scared to truly shake off the shackles of another way of thinking.
And ultimately the decision to tell a lie or the quasi-truth is myopic in nature: eventually the lie will be undone and you’ll still have to deal with whatever the real story is. And rather than just discussing whatever it is that you lied about, you simultaneously have to deal with the repercussions of having violated someone’s trust by lying to them.
And let’s not forget the energy you have to invest in your lie. How much energy do you have to put into remembering what exactly you said? It’s tiresome, to say the least.
If I had simply told Ramiro that I had slept with my friend before we were together, it would have been his problem to deal with if he let jealousy prevail and assumed that we were still sleeping together when I spent the night. If he decided he didn’t want to be with someone who had slept with people for money, then we both would have learned that we were just not of the same mindset. Or neither truth could have been a problem and we would have simply moved on to other conversations. Instead, I told a lie, and that puts me at fault.
But I knew these sorts of things would happen when I decided to write a blog about my sexuality and relationships and told my friends all about it. And while it hurts to hear the sting in his voice when Ramiro tells me about a discovery he’s made, I am glad that it comes up. It’s cathartic, and helps me overcome my previous failings, allows me to continue working on myself as a person.
Though I appreciate the emails and comments that offer praise for my honesty, I think it’s important to note that it is just as much a battle for me as the next person when there is a fear of possible shame or rejection. In the end, however, I’m not ashamed of who I am and should thus act accordingly.
Like I said, it was that thought that helped motivate me to start this blog, and I’m glad that my honesty has been beneficial—both to myself and to others, if my emails are any indication.
And now that I’ve had time to mull over that, it’s time to put pen to paper (so to speak) and get some of my recent stories up. Stay tuned, mes amis!