I watch people sometimes, wonder how they can walk around with the weight of what they know. Wonder if they feel like me, stumbling with lead shoes on the bottom of the ocean, swimming in a sea of the unsay-able. It’s a mistake we make, thinking its words that tell us everything. It’s the sound that breaks glasses, cracks windows, sends cats up trees. Maybe we’re just not getting it, standing here listening for sensible speech, dying of loneliness and waiting for whatever it is. How do we know we’re not calling and calling all the time, our throats so tight with it, that it’s too high to hear? Privacy is the world of things you know about yourself and don't need to share. It's your relationship with yourself. The way you cry at sad movies and sing in front of the mirror. The way you believe you'll be a movie star or win a Nobel Prize. Whatever it is. Those dreams you're entitled to. The difference is that you're not ashamed. Your private thoughts empower you. Secrets are something else. It's the part of yourself that you disown. Even to yourself. Then a strange kind of chemistry occurs and you start to love the secret and you think the secret is keeping you alive. I hope you'll never do that. I hope you'll want to take yourself and your private dreams and choose to be part of the dance.

Secret No. 1: Sometimes I can't sleep at night, in fear of my teddybears coming to life and attacking me.