Intimacy.

I have discovered that, despite my long record of thinking (and claiming) the contrary, I have intimacy issues. There are things I will not discuss, not in any personal sense, not when it matters, not when it's important that they be discussed. This reticence stems from a fear of opening up. It's a fear of rejection and of judgment and of being poked and prodded in soft places that just won't stand up to long and/or intense scrutiny.

I have been able to avoid this realization for the previous 25 years of my life because I can be what others describe as a very open person. I will talk about a whole range of things that most people don't discuss in public. But I will discuss them in the most academic, intellectual, abstract terms. My "self" (such as it is) is never involved in these conversations, just my brain. This is evidenced by the very language I use, the terms, the connections, the dime-store psychology that is injected in pretty much every conversation I have that touches on matters personal. I strive to remain unemotional, objective, viewing a subject or a problem from all sides, empathizing with any point of view presented to me.

Of course, of course, this doesn't always work, but compared to the emotional tumult that constantly rages through my head, down my spinal cord, and seeps into every molecule of my being, right on down to the marrow in my bones, I'm the picture of serene calm.

(I think this might be somehow responsible for why I am such a sap, why I cry at movies with even an iota of emotional resonance, why beautiful music and lyrics make my throat tight and my eyes burn.)

In simple terms, then, my penchant for abstraction is an emotional defense mechanism.

And this is why, despite all my sharing and seeming forthrightness, I have intimacy issues.

I don't tell anyone my fantasies. I don't tell anyone my dreams. I don't tell anyone about my heartaches. I don't tell anyone about the moments in which I'm overcome with joy, either. I don't tell anyone, not even the people responsible for those joys, those heartaches; not even the people who inspire the dreams and the fantasies. I don't tell anyone about my beliefs, the things I feel in my soul when I see new leaves on trees and sunrises and all those other wonderous, every-day occurences that can't but leave one with a sense of awe at the absolute perfection and beauty and complexity that is creation.

I'll talk about sex, but only with people that I'm not having any with. I'll talk about God, but only in the abstract, only in the broadest and dryest of terms. I'll talk about love, but only with my head, never ever with my heart.

One of these days, I'll have to take the plunge, and break the hermetic seal on my emotional life. One of these days, I'll have to let someone in.