Record Three: Shame

I’ve done bad things.
I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. Whenever my family gets doughnuts, I hide the blueberry fritter so no one else can eat it.
And yet, it’s not me who does those things, not really. It’s another guy, another me that I push to the side of my head. I’m a nice guy. How could I do bad stuff?
In this issue, we wrote about events we’re not proud of. It wasn’t easy. Dredging up those dark, wriggling bits of ourselves, throwing them into the light, taking careful pictures to record for posterity, we learned some uncomfortable truths about who we are.
What we are, is stories. Some of which we’d rather not tell. It’s not easy to come to terms with the shameful parts, to admit that the same guy who gives money to the homeless guy by the subway is the same guy who undresses women in bars. But, on a positive note, I believe that by writing through them, by admitting our faults, we merge the shameful stories with the narrative of our life, and I think that makes us a bit more whole.