Note: this will not be told in separate essays the way If I Were A Boy is; it will be one long, continuing narrative that will probably take at least one more essay to write about.

--

My therapist tells me continually that the concept of a "best friend" is an adolescent one, that the idea of having someone we confide absolutely everything to is nonsensical. He'll say that we can't know everything about another person, that we can't even really know another person. That mystery is an allure. It's healthy. It's safe.

I've only recently begun to understand what he means about this absolute confidante, the one where you spill out every little thought to—that he's right. Being "totally honest" with someone often amounts to being a dick. Nobody likes the...

Please subscribe to keep reading.