I’m sorry for lying to you. I was lying when I told you I wasn’t ready for a relationship and that the timing was wrong. It was a complete untruth when I said that I was too screwed up to take on the responsibility of another human being. It wasn’t because you were too good for me or because I needed to concentrate on my education. It was because I lost interest in you. Because you paled in comparison to the you I used to know.
Why must we sugarcoat things to such a degree that the sweetness is no longer an embellishment but a complete deviation from the bitter truth? It’s not because we care so deeply for a person that we don’t want to hurt their feelings, it is merely because we are cowards. It is scary to face the pain that your words can cause in another persons heart. It is simply too easy to avoid ownership and responsibility of the wrongs you have committed when it comes to crimes of love. A little self-blame here, a compliment there followed by a dash of deep regret, as though the whole situation is out of your hands.
The worst part of this whole process of sparing one another’s feelings is that neither person believes the words being said. When what went up came down six months later, I didn’t believe a word you were saying. You didn’t like me so much it confused you is usually quite the opposite, but still we danced the dance and parted ways under the pretense of an awkward lie. What you didn’t have the courage to say to me, I told myself, and wept over the truth nonetheless.
Your friends will lie to you too. They will lie and tell you that I simply couldn’t handle you, as if you are a puzzle so complex only the greatest hearts and minds are up to the job. They will weave you tangled webs and say that you were too good for me, expecting you to believe that anyone would ever reject food that was too satisfying, or money that was too rich. They will shamelessly inflate your ego and tell you it’s not worth it, that you’re a catch that I simply couldn’t understand. Their loss, your friends will say.
The truth is sometimes naked to the point of offense. We have to dress it up, if only to soften the edges as it blows into the soul of another person.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell you that I find you boring and ignorant, because I was too scared of seeing in your face how much you cared when I was being a bitch, even if it’s the truth and I do think boring and ignorant. I should have told you anyway, and spared you the self-laceration you undoubtedly inflicted on yourself later. I also would have found it hard to hear that there was a girl out there that is better for you than I am. It might be true, but the imaginary person I had weaved in between your many flaws and gaps only had eyes for me. And in any case, bumping into both of you holding hands hurt a lot more than honesty would have. So you should have told me anyway.
And I would want my friends to please stop lying. By all means, be there for your heartbroken friend. Pick my shattered heart up off the floor and piece it back together with love, wine and dancing. Tell me how beautiful I am and be prepared to watch me stagger into the inevitable rebound. Laugh with me and support my new ridiculous hairstyle, dress sense, or power ballad.
Just don’t lie.
Don’t tell me that I’m too good for someone. I’m not. We are all just as twisted and confused as each other, but like shapes, we are twisted and edged in different ways. Just like some shapes tessellate in a neater way than others, we too slot together better with certain people. Don’t put me on a pedestal, as though I am only attainable by the very elite of the dating world, you are only making it harder for them next time.
The truth hurts but it is the only bitter antidote for the disease of wandering what if? We must accustom ourselves to the taste of it, both when we are swallowing and feeding it. We have to be able to handle the cringing if we ever want to get over the hurt.