Have you ever felt how you’re not who you think you are?
That you’re not who society or your family wants you to be?
That you might be harbouring a deep, dark secret or two?
No, you’re not a cold-hearted serial killer. Neither are you a psychotic child molester or serial rapist. You’re you. You have always been. Inside and out. Yet, somehow, different.
I’d love to say what I mean to say but it may tip the scale and turn into an affront for others. All I know is that I’m different. I know I’m different. I have always been different for a long time now. I knew I was different 15 years ago. 15 years later, I’m in my 30s now, deep down inside, I am still that same person but with a slight difference.
I feel as if I’m living a double life. No one knows about it. No one, except him. About how I’ve kept it on the down low, hidden away from prying eyes and pricked-up ears. About how I’ve kept the feelings buried for so many years. Because being a deviant is frowned upon. At least by those around me and where I come from.
But the feelings resurfaced recently, stronger than ever. I can’t go on hiding but I can’t come clean either. Not until the time is right. Not until the right one comes along. So for now, I’ll just have to continue sleeping with the skeleton in my closet.