Honesty

I’m not sure exactly how old I was.  Old enough to speak in complete sentences, young enough so that my mother was drawing me a bath.  I was level with the drawers in the kitchen. We had a junk drawer, like most families. I was just the perfect height to be able to paw through it, indiscriminately, exploring its contents.  I had no reason to be doing it. No reason not be doing it, I was just exploring.

I was maybe this age? Unfortunately pictures that I had of me at about this tall were lost.

I found a tube of glue.  I was old enough to know that it was glue.  It was a hardy glue. In one of those squeezable metal tubes.  It had been used. It was crinkley. But it still had a crinkle to it.  There was still good glue inside. There was also a thumb tack in the drawer.  Amongst a thousand other odds and ends. I picked up the thumb tack. I touched it to the metal tube.  To my surprise it instantly pierced it and a bubble of glue began to grow out of the hole.  

I threw both of them back into the drawer and slammed it shut, running from the kitchen.  I’m not sure where I went. I remember thinking how I would get in trouble for ruining the glue.  I also remember envisioning the glue continuing to leak and leak until the entire house was flooding with glue and we were all being washed away by glue and it was all my fault!  I did not pause to think that there was not that much glue in the container. I did not rationalize that if I left it there, eventually it would dry up and if an adult came across it, they would more likely think that something in the drawer had come in contact with it and punctured it rather than seeking me out and holding me accountable.  

I went into the bathroom, where my bath was almost ready.  My mom was swishing the water, making sure that the temperature was uniform.  I asked her if she could come and show me the names of everything in the drawers in the kitchen.  My voice sounded fakely happy, even to myself. She turned and looked at me, “the drawers don’t have names…” she said.  

“No!” I said, “show me the names of the things IN the drawers.”  

“Oh, okay!  Right after your bath,” she smiled.  

I began to panic.  The glue is in there leaking this entire time!  “NOOOO!!!” I wailed, “NOOOW!!”

There was a terse back and forth where my mom finally asked the crucial question, “Why is it so important that we do this right now?”

“BECAUSE THE GLUE IS LEAKING!” I finally confessed and burst into tears.  I followed her sobbing into the kitchen, where she found the crinkley tube of glue, with one drip still clinging to the tiny puncture I had made.  She put a piece of tape over it and asked me what happened. I spilled everything. I had punctured the glue with the pin.

I don’t remember what happened after that.

I don’t remember if I was punished.  I don’t remember my bath. I don’t remember anything about the rest of that day.  I just remember the horrible feeling I had when I knew that I had caused harm and was trying desperately to hide it.  And what a relief it was when I finally got my mom to find the glue and save us all from being washed away. I doubt she even remembers this day.  But I remember it so vividly.

I’m sure I was dishonest before.  And I know that it wasn’t my last time.  But I also know that the other times have been just as uncomfortable, if not more so.  Once I physically got headaches until I rectified the situation. I don’t like it. It’s like living slightly outside of yourself.  Nothing really fits. I avoid dishonesty at all cost. It’s not my preferred vice.

There is a difference between being actively dishonest and say… telling some fibs so you can surprise someone on their birthday.  Or keeping your mouth shut when you don’t agree with what is being discussed at the Thanksgiving table. (As long as it’s not actively harming you or someone else mentally.)  But there’s a point at which you start to learn… keeping quiet here benefits most everyone, keeping quiet here benefits only me. Or… keeping quiet means the glue will eventually flood the house and destroy everyone.

There are very few people I would trust not to smush me in their sleep. And there are very few people I would trust myself not to smush whilst sleeping. Jake and I have over 15 years of trust.

There was a point right after the fire where my internal clock was off.  There were times when I was trying to decide what the right thing to do was and I couldn’t feel it.  Those were the most disconcerting times.  I would talk to my family and friends and use them as sounding boards.  I’m sure it got annoying, but I didn’t have my internal compass. It was clouded.  It was malfunctioning. Maybe that’s what happens when you’re in survival mode?

That internal compass came back.  I’m so glad. I missed it so much.  Even for just little things. Should you drink tonight?  Probably not. Saturday? You’d be better off not, but it’ll be okay if it happens.  Should I pursue this fantastic opportunity that would take a lot of work? Keep in touch with them, but pass, you have too much on your plate right now to give them your full powers, and your full powers would be needed.  

 It’s good to have an idea about these kinds of things.  And usually you have a gut reaction. At least I think that most of us do.  Maybe I’m wrong. Is it a gift? Are we just too clouded as a species right now to know what is right intuitively?

There are people who have your back. Trust them unless you have reason not to.

I do know this: no matter where you are, and what you’re going through, you have people in your life that do care.  And you have people in your life that rely on you, that you are important to. And they want to talk to you, and they should know about the important thing.  If you feel like you can’t hold it alone, it may be that you can’t. Let them in. If your compass is failing you, turn to the people you trust most. Don’t try and do this alone.  It will only backfire.

Harry Potter survived because of love and friendship.  Buffy was the first Vampire Slayer with friends. These things cannot be done alone.  It takes a village.