“Everyone share a secret,” I command my group of friends all seated around my dining table. It is a Thursday night and I’m starved to consume anyone else’s faults beyond my own. 

This is regularly scheduled programming that I put on during our meet ups. Not regular enough that anyone is comfortable volunteering, so I am first to divulge. I have a rolodex of acceptable secrets to share. Some funny, some tragic, but all carefully curated. Tonight mine was met with “you’ve already told me that one.” Shit, I think to myself. I’m running out of the acceptable secrets. I’m running out of my glamorous, laughter inducing secrets. Shit shit shit. 

My whole life has been about secrets. Keeping them, dwelling on them, positioning them to my benefit (enter: college scholarship sob story essays) and ultimately expertly crafting them to be ready when the time has come to share them. A secret I kept forever was the fact that my mother was a raging alcoholic. Soon I realized that secret was child’s play. Everyone’s mother seemed to be an alcoholic. So the uniqueness quickly wore off. My next secret that I harbored was the fact my father was a professional conman. No real job. No taxes ever paid. Cash for scams and scams for cash. But my father passed away a few years ago so statute of limitations took effect and I started sharing that one too. 

I have a million more where that came from, a perfect life of an artist to pull from tragedy and turn to beauty. More to come on this with my book.

What I’m left with are the disgustingly unglamorous secrets. The ones that truly embarrass me. The ones they don’t have movies for. Tell me, when is the last time you saw a sitcom address the fact that it might be hard to brush your teeth every day. Yeah, I’m talking about that kind of unglamorous. 

I brush my teeth every morning. In an effort to put my best foot forward as I deal with the world and all those who inhabit it. I brush my teeth because there would be people there to tell me if I haven’t. But at night, when it is just me and my cat in my apartment, I almost always skip brushing my teeth. That’s a lie, I always skip brushing my teeth. Lies and secrets. Secrets and lies. The only exception? If I have someone spending the night and they brush their teeth. I brush my teeth in the morning and I brush my teeth anytime someone is near. This is one of the most important, if not the most important aspect of my secrets, how I keep them. My web, woven oh so intricately.

Maybe you’re reading this and thinking “that’s your deep, dark secret?” Or maybe you’re reading this and thinking “that nasty bitch.” Either way, this is the secret I share with you. One secret that I can’t bear to hold onto any longer. The feelings associated with this “habit” are that I’m lazy, poorly disciplined and just flat out gross. I don’t really believe these things to be true, most of the time. But the truth is, I do have poor discipline* which in turn makes me lazy and gross. As mentioned before, my mother was caring for a bottle of vodka and my dad was out hustling people at the racetrack, so little Jesse didn’t have a mom or dad to sit with her as she brushed her teeth every night. My father’s parenting method was often “I should only have to tell you once.” I could never figure out my mother’s, perhaps due to the slurred speech.

Poor discipline is the facade that I hide with the tiny “*” disclaimer, that shows what is really is: *neglect. It is not pretty to say your parents neglected you. It is not beautiful to say the two people in the world that are supposed to love you more than anything don’t give a flying fuck about your dental hygiene. Nor can I craft a joke that makes neglect seem edgy, cool and attractive. But ironically, I myself, have always been all of these things: pretty, beautiful, attractive, etc. Even despite the poor brushing habits, you would look at my smile and more often times than not, compliment it. This is the dysphoria of my life. Beautiful on the outside, slowly decaying on the inside. My life and my mouth holding the dirty secrets of my upbringing. Akin to deadly germs that can only be seen under a microscope by an expert. I haven’t been to a dentist in two and a half years because I can’t bear to face the shame and embarrassment. So I choose to only show my teeth to people who can’t see up close and personal. 

The concept of discipline is a glaring reminder that I’m alone. It’s infinitely harder to obtain discipline without someone’s help. This is why we have teachers, coaches, therapists, managers, etc. On a grander scale, our entire society only continues to exist because of the ways our people teach, grow and mentor others. When I stand at my bathroom counter as time ticks, I am transported back to dark motel room I grew up in. The most important thing then was making sure I could get myself up in the morning and get myself to school, not making sure my teeth were pearly white. The most important thing for my father was stealing the $120 needed for the weekly rate at the Tower Motel and the most important thing for my mother was not overdosing on Heaven Hill vodka. Again, no mention of canines or molars unfortunately.

But life is different now. I am not in survival mode anymore. I am not 10 years old. I am not living in a motel, or trailer, or whatever it was back then. I am not with my parents. If I lost my job, if my apartment caught fire, if my mother dies, I would be fine. I would know what to do. Good in a crisis, so good that it’s unsettling when I’m not in one. Life. Is. Different. Now. But this difference is a muscle that I have not exercised or ever been able to prioritize up until now.

Now, it is almost 1:00AM. I have spent the night entertaining my friends. I made espresso martinis for everyone and sipped them while telling secrets. I spent money on over priced wine and smoked cigarettes and took photos that I know I’ll look back on in my old age. I laughed, laughed and laughed some more. I made my best friends cackle and they did the same for me. But now I am alone. It is quiet and still at my sink. And the peace is causing me chaos. I attack myself with self loathing, praying to redirect this anger to my right hand so I can get myself to grab my blue toothbrush. But I can’t. Tonight I can’t. What I will do tonight is share my secret. In hopes to get some relief. Relief for little Jesse.  She is so tired of carrying the shame. So I release it for her into the ether. And perhaps, tomorrow I will be able to carry just a toothbrush.