I was talking with a friend the other day about secrets and how I tend to be obsessed with them. I like to know secrets, I like to be told secrets and I like to find out secrets, for better or worse. Most of my life has seen the better, though certainly the worse arrived a while back and curiosity killed the cat. Still, knowing is always better than not knowing because let’s face it even when you don’t have proof you always know.
Still secrets are always floating around in my head and they are always tickling my fascination. Looking over the things I’ve written, stories and fragments and smut and so on, I see that the common thread is people finding out things about other people. People eavesdropping or finding diaries, people following people, people spying on people, the skeletons in the closets being revealed. It is a climactic moment and it makes for a good story, I think.
The conclusion of the conversation was that the desire to learn other people’s secrets is the desire to find evidence that the things I think and the things I do are not deviant or unique. To find evidence that perversions, both sexual and emotional are not isolated. More so the feeling that my thoughts and emotions are somehow “not right” is because of my upbringing where people didn’t talk about their emotions ever, so I never got any validation that the things I felt were “normal.”
I also realize that when I am in a relationship I long for my partner to find out things about me. I have this need for my partner to dig and to investigate because if they don’t then they don’t want it enough. Love and passion should always have at least a touch of obsession.
The thought of a partner writing something or creating something and not wanting to read it seems foreign to me. Does that make sense?
I think my goal should be to write stories like secrets so that when someone reads them they are filled with the excitement of finding something out.
Anyhow, tell me some secrets. Comment anonymously. Tell me something.