Back in my “prime,” I was considered to be one of the most trustworthy people there ever was.  Family, Friends, Customers, Criminals, Police, Random Asshats and, especially, Politicians would tell me all their secrets.  I could keep my mouth shut.

     I was always very good at keeping my mouth shut.

     Eventually, their problems would become my problems, in trying to resolve the injustices in a given situation.  Still, though I would play Devil’s Advocate for a lot, I’d keep my mouth shut.]

     I was always good like that.  That why everyone felt they could trust me … Why they felt I could keep their secrets.

     Those are the things that keep me up at night.  Not my guilt — no, other peoples.

     And it pisses me off.
     Many months ago, I finally got the opportunity to meet one of the objects of my torment.  I beat his sorry ass to a bloody pulp, all the time lecturing him about why it was a stupid idea to put me in this situation.
     A few months later, he killed himself.

     Good.

     One less asshat in the world.

     Too bad the sorry piece of trash never had the balls to apologize to all the people he’d screwed over in his life.  Too bad he never apologized to those he’d confided in when he took the “easy way” out of his guilt.
     No, his worthless ass left everyone else holding the bag, just like he always did.
     The very sad part is, most people will say, “Don’t talk ill of the dead!”
     Why the Hell not?

     I mean, come on, if their bullshit has tormented you for years, why shouldn’t you just come right out and say it?

     And what the Hell was wrong with me that I never said it before?
     Tonight, for instance, I saw someone I haven’t seen in nearly ten years.  A sweet girl who I tried to look out for in the absence of her parents.  A sweet girl who just always seemed to make bad decisions.
     Several times, I took the fall when she messed up.  Several times, I beat on someone severely when she was in harm’s way. 
     She was one of many “homeless” kids back then, and that’s what I did.  I lived downtown, and I tried to keep them outta trouble.

     Still, eventually, things got really bad for her, despite my best intentions.
     Marriage to someone I’d known for a long time, a cloak & dagger psycho snooping around, and a mysterious disappearance as the outcome.

     A few years afterwards, I realized the “mysterious disappearance” wasn’t so mysterious, afterall.  I ended up meeting up with that specific party in another town (in the same state, mind you!) hanging out with a few other mutual friends.
     I kinda figured everyone knew, except this girl.

     Before I left the country seven years ago, I talked to her late, one night, and said, “Hey, about all that shit … you know, doncha?”
     “Yeah.”

     I kinda thought that was the end of it until I saw her again tonight.

     Eventually, reminscing about old times caught up with me.  And maybe her, too.
     Everybody’d else had known for seven years.  Everybody.

     But, it seems, nobody ever told her.

     Just one less secret for me to have to keep.

     I don’t like that … hate that situation.

     Especially between friends and family.
     It’s no damn wonder I feel like I’ve lost my mind, all these secrets.
     Maybe one of these days I’ll figure out how to tell people without telling them… Just get them thinking enough to figure them all out.

     In the meantime, I guess I’ll just keep on keeping my mouth shut … keep on keep secrets that I don’t want …

     With other peoples’ guilt.

     Wish you pricks would spill the beans already, and quit leaving people like me hanging.