a disturbing thought

for some odd reason, today while i was folding my laundry and listening to music i became overwhelmed by the thought that no one really knows me.

does my mother really know me? does she know how absolutely lost i was when i was heartbroken over regg? does she know that at one time i needed a drink just to get through the day? does she know that i smoke weed sometimes and have had sex with people other than those i was in relationships with?

do my friends really know me? do they know my dreams? do they know what type of music that intrests me? or books i read? do i have anything in common with them anymore? how many TRUE friends do i actually have?

it seems as though all the people in my life know a little part of me. that if they all were to be put in a room and spoke to one another only then will they get the whole picture. is that how its supposed to be?

it would be comforting to have someone who knew all of me. and loved me anyway.