Ugh. People, please, we were doing so well for a while there. But now there's a whole new stormfront of secrets, and I've got a migraine the size of Pluto.
I honestly don't care who you tell, you can tell me, you can tell your therapist, you can tell a friend or a loved one or a pet or a stranger on the train, I don't care. It doesn't matter, as long as more than one person knows, it means that it's not a secret any more and it's not making me feel like my brain is slowly pushing my eyeballs out of their sockets.