An Ode to Nazareth (well, sort of)

I think I'm a damn good listener. I'm not standing on a mountaintop screaming my praises. But if someone comes to me and needs to just talk/vent/complain/scream/cry or whatever, I think I do a good job as a friend and listen to what they have to say. And maybe that's my problem with some people. I've spent too long listening and not enough sharing. But I am an extremely private person. If I've decided that I am going to share something about my private life then I figure there is some reason to trust you. Maybe it's b/c you've trusted me so much. Or maybe it's just that, now, I feel comfortable sharing parts of what makes me who I am.
You know, I admit to not *always* being on the ball and being able to listen with all of my senses. Sometimes I am distracted. BUT (und zees izz a beeg butt!), I'll always try to revert back to you and what you're going through.
When I'm brushed aside, I feel insignificant and it diminishes a part of whatever trust I had in you. I feel that whatever it is that I am holding so dear to me and a secret from so many people is completely inconsequential. And you wonder why it is that I am closed off. Private. Living behind this wall.
You know, my demons are kept close. Within my own reach. And I deal with those on my own. But the things I choose to share, although they might not seem as large or significant as other people's problems, I assure you... ARE.
It hurts.