Saturday, Aug. 02, 2008 10:34 p.m.

before postsecret: I was there

I was thinking about Postsecret just now. My appreciation of the site has definitely gone down over the years. Where I once found it interesting and fascinating, now I just feel is lackluster and immature.

But I still read it.

And I still feel that same small pang of regret each week. The regret of my once secret life. Wondering what it'd be like had I thought of postsecret, instead of Frank Warren. It's strange, but most times, when I read all the secrets, I seem to emphasize, not with the writers, but instead with the receiver, Frank.

What is it like to be the bearer of all those thoughts, and feelings, and shames, and confessions, and realizations. To read them all first, to let them sink in, to know that someone out there somewhere, is sharing their secret with him first.

(of course, I'm sure he also has to weed out which cards are probably fabricated)

I've talked about it a few times in this diary, here and there, and I have links to it along the right. But this diary was originally created, 7 years ago, for a specific purpose. That purpose has been drowned out and forgotten now, but it did once exist.

And I'm afraid that it will one day be lost and forgotten...forever. So I occasionally have to mention it, to secure its' previous existence. It is my biggest secret: once, many years ago, I was a mini-Frank Warren. A VERY mini-Frank Warren, as our purposes and methods were quite different, but enough of a similarity in our own ways to establish a connection.

I even sent a postcard to postsecret about this once. I never saw it anywhere. I wonder if Frank ever saw it. And knew that out there, somewhere, there was someone who carried the role of secret-holder before him.

I carried people's secrets.

And I feel strange writing about this now. Admitting this. I know I've written another entry about it on here somewhere, but I've always been hesitant to fully explain the secret importance I felt in that position. I hold it extremely dear to me. There was a time when I'd think about it, think about them, people I'd never know, and I'd care about them a great, great deal.

Hundreds of emails. People sharing anything. Some people wanting to commit suicide and not knowing if they'd be alive to get my response, people's who's marriages were falling apart and they somehow thought I might have answers, people wanting to explain their religion, getting into fights over homosexuality, people miserable and depressed, people telling me how I should live my life, etc., etc., etc.

I didn't tell people about this. No one. Ever. Eventually, revisions and K knew about it, as its part of my site/this diary...but no one knows everything I've read.

I like this...but I also don't want those important and secret years of my life to be forgotten, to have never existed.

Pouring your heart out and exposing your deepest, darkest secrets to strangers is not a new innovation. I was there before postsecret.

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