There’s a bit in the film Titanic where the old lady version of Rose says “a woman’s heart is an ocean of secrets”. At least I think she did. It has been a long time since I saw that movie.
I’ve always gone with that idea though.
There are so many daily miseries, joys and hopes that swim around in a human heart. Most of them we cannot always voice or express to those around us. I guess the driving factor behind that is very simply fear. That fear of being honest and saying how you feel about stuff and people and what the consequences of that honesty may reveal.
I suppose I fear that too. I’m not necessarily afraid of talking to people about my feelings and that big vat of bubbling, swirling emotion in my heart – more admitting things to myself.
Sometimes I find it quite purifying to admit things to myself and then get the hell on with life in general for a bit, until I need to do it again.
I do not talk to people about how I feel about everyone and everything, although I used to be a very open book when I was young. Now, I play my feelings so close, that I can bottle things up and keep things only to myself.
It is not that I don’t believe people would keep my secrets, but because… I don’t know… I think I have to perhaps always be an entity known better by just myself.
I mystify my husband on a regular basis and he is often perplexed and at times lost by the fact I can and do keep things inside. He understands me better than anyone alive and is my best friend, yet there are times when he doesn’t get me. This doesn’t upset him (unless he’s concerned; of course), as he knows that I will always try to be honest with him and I do of course, love him.
I can’t describe it sometimes, about how I need to keep things inside of me. The best analogy I can think of comes from my favourite novel, Jane Eyre. Jane is asked to be the only teacher of a tiny girls school in a little, bucolic village. From the outset it is made plain to her that she will only be teaching the basics: reading, writing, sewing and other very limited yet practical things. Jane has a spectrum of educational accomplishments – she can play the piano, speak fluent French and can paint wonderfully, to name but a few of her skills. When the local Vicar asks her what she will do with all of her accomplishments, seeing as they will not be needed in her new situation, she simply reassures him that she will store them away inside herself until they are needed.
That is a bit like me and my heart. The things I don’t show or admit to or talk about are simply stored away inside my being, awaiting one day to be released. This might be via talking, should I ever need to, or even through my writing. I feel like they are tomes kept in an archive and although I visit that archive every single day and thumb through their pages; it is within the archive they shall remain.
I’m kinda okay with that too.