“You’re only as sick as your secrets,” says A.A. and every other recovery program available.
Here’s my problem, though, I treasure my privacy, I don’t want everyone to know my secrets. I don’t tell most people about my problems with brain chemistry.
Am I sick? Or just discerning?
I have a dentist’s appointment coming up on Friday. I’ve seen this dentist before; he worked on Small and goes to our church. I have to fill out a new patient packet with insurance information and medication information. There is a space for prescription drugs and what they treat. For the orthodontist, not someone I knew, I refused to write it down. I discussed it with him but didn’t want it on record. For the dentist, I just dutifully filled out the paperwork.
What’s the point?
That makes two of my health care professionals, the pharmacist and the dentist, who go to my church. And so that makes it a grand total of five people at our church who know my secret.
Of course, all of you also know my secret, but most of you wouldn’t recognize me if we passed each other on the street; that makes things different. I can be honest and bold here and people are helped, I’m not discriminated against.
It’s kind of crazy that I squeeze out the most difficult and trying experiences out of my soul to share them with people I don’t even know, while the people who sit next to me at church every week are mostly clueless – although there are some who suspect, I know that.
I’m tired. I’ll write more later. Good night.