You have no idea. None at all. But that's okay. I can deal. But it's just wrong not to know anything about me . . . because you know, we're friends. And yes, I know it's not your fault. It's mine because I am so paranoid. You say to trust you, but everything tells me, 'Don't do it.'

Everyone wants an honest friend. A friend that shares their feelings and keeps your secrets. But I can only do half of that, so am I only a so-so friend? Does this lack of trust hurt our could've-been-solid friendship? Honestly, I don't think so. What you don't know can't hurt you.

But it hurts me. Guilt hasn't wounded me this badly before. Not when my mom caught me sneaking cookies from above the fridge; not when I got a low score on an exam because I knew the reason was because I didn't study. You see, I cherish this, this thing between you and me. But this phobia isn't going to let go any time soon, and I wanted to give you a heads up. I guess this a step forward towards breaking down this towering glass wall. Now you know I am a wary, lying imbecile.

It feels good to admit this because there is so much more I don't. I apologize. And when you read this, just ask. I might just drop a hint, dear friend.