I like to know things.
So when I don’t know things, it is hard for me to deal with.
Especially when I don’t know things about the people I am involved in intimate, intricate relationships with.
It’s hard for me. I feel unsure of my footing. Not 100% sure of where to step, how to be. I like to know things and when I don’t know things it makes me wonder, can I deal with this?
More often than not, the answer is a bellowing, resounding no.
Ironically, I keep winding up somehow intertwined with people who don’t like me to know things. Or rather, do not care to tell. Or, conversely, will tell but only what they want you to know why they want you to know it in the light that best illuminates their good side. You know the type, treading in vague, dealing in confusion. Dispensing not-quite-lies, but as-vanilla-as-possible-information, so that it is barely distinguishable from either fact or fiction.
I hate it. HATE IT. It is so frustrating to me, beyond my being able to function under its pressure. I recognize that this need to know is sufficiently rooted in my own issues, but, good or bad, it is a thread woven into the tapestry of my life.
It is what it is, until further notice.
I like to know things. And I am even handed in this pursuit. I believe wholeheartedly in giving what you get. And I am always prepared, nay, willing, to tell.
If that’s what I get.
What I don’t understand is why I keep not getting it.