There are certain things I just don’tshare all that easily and I guess the reason for my reluctance is pretty simple: they’re the things that cause me to feel temporary (but still momentarily paralyzing) paroxysms of shame. Shame, you see, is a tough one. I can totally temper my anger and I can quietly quell my joy, but my shame comes roaring out like breath that’s been laced with fire, as though I’ve instantly been transformed into one of those mythical beasts from literature and film that have always psychologically traumatized me for absolutely no good reason whatsoever. Shame happens, and I find myself emotionally and mentally pummeled by something I probably should have – and could have – avoided in the first place. Very rarely will I find the strength to turn my fury on the person who caused the actual distress to infiltrate my life. No, I am far too preoccupied with going inward so I can more effectively beat the shit out of myself until my brain and my stomach and my tear ducts become as bruised and abused as my heart.