Secrets don't make friends.

I've come to realize that I am emotionally frustrating for myself to be around.
In part, because I don't know how to be honest. Mostly, I don't know how to be honest with myself.
I often battle with this idea of honesty in regards not only to the things I say to people, but the things I repress. I believe that I am a lot more eloquently written than spoken, and I tend to express myself in a truer, clearer light if I just refuse to say it.
I've been worried about myself for a while now, especially since recent events, and I find myself questioning my decisions. Not necessarilly regretting them, but regretting the overall feeling I had. I wish I could've been happier given the situation, but I know myself well enough to recognize that it was a difficult decision that couldn't have been made any other way.
I make it a point to be extremely blunt with the people I surround myself with (which, lately, hasn't been many). I'm not mean, I'm not cold, I'm just blunt. I've noticed that with everything I say, I really say nothing.
The people that know me don't really know me.

Well, they know me. They know who I am and they know my habits and they know the intimate details of my relationships with people and my issues with men (really just one). They know my niches and they know how I drive and they know which one of my nipples is pierced and they know my sexual history and they know what I'm afraid of.

But I've managed to keep a very important piece of my personality in the dark. I've managed to supress it enough to where even I don't think of it on a daily basis. I sometimes forget that it's there.

And it's not them. Really. It's me. I have to retain some ounce of mystery!
But it's a very lonely feeling. Even when I'm not alone.