Truth-tellers

Tonight I had a short-lived conversation with a friend of mine about what my "type" is. I went for the cop-out answer of "asshole" for several reasons, one of which is that in order to get a real answer from me (regarding anything of moderate depth) the question usually needs to be posed twice, so I know that my fellow conversant is actually looking for an answer, not simple, superficial conversation. The necessity of this was learned the roundabout way for yours truly. He dropped it, like I expected him to, but I've been mulling over it a bit since then.

My "type" and now I am speaking in the broadest sense, the sense in which friendship and any other valued relationship would be included in this category, is a truth-teller. I need to be with people who tell the truth, feel the truth, live the truth. Let me explain.

I have recently found, in most of my relationships (broadest sense, again) that there is a point where my friend and I hit a metaphorical wall of considerable girth. This wall is one that is hard, if not impossible, to pass and is, to me at least, inhibitive of the relationship proceeding or even continuing. What I am referring to is friends' refusal to answer questions about their lives. Perhaps it is something from their past that isn't pleasant to think about or something from the present about which they only share with certain people.

Regardless, I don't want to spend time with people who won't share themselves wholly with me, because I know that I am not invited to share myself wholly with them, and if that is that case, why the hell am I wasting my time with them? True, there is something to be said for the pleasant company of other human peoples, but I can enjoy the casual, pleasant company of people who will also share more of themselves than what they tell everyone else.

I hate when I can tell a story has been told a hundred times and those are the only kinds I get, even when it's clear that the story is one that should be heartfelt. I hate when I am trying to care about a person and they skate around my questions or make it blatantly clear that the information they are holding away from me is not something I would ever be told. I hate when there are parts of people's lives that they refuse to share with anyone.

I am a truth-teller, in a way. If someone wants to know my painful stories I will share them, and I'm just as willing to share my good ones. It's weird, though, because where a lot of people label themselves good, kind and loving (and then either do or do not live up to their label) I prefer to call myself a terrible person, and then do good.

There is a parable about a father who has two sons. He asks one of them to do a chore for him and is snubbed. He moves on to the other and asks him to do the chore as well, and the son agrees joyfully. The first son changes his mind and does the chore anyway. The second son gets lazy and doesn't even try to do it. I'm the first son. That has nothing to do with what I was talking about.

My hair is tangled. I'm tired. I couldn't buy shampoo today because I forgot that I hid my debit card because I don't have enough money to buy anything anymore. Urgh. Life is good when it's not.

Edit:

What I was trying to get at is this: there are a few people in my life, one of whom I have literally only known for about a month, who mean the world to me. These people mean the world to me because they share of themselves. They are honest about what they feel both with themselves and with people who ask. That is my type. A person who can recognize their own reality for what it is, but not let it either destroy or define them...those are the people I love. Those are the people I want to surround myself with.