I Always Lie

lie
Unsplash / Taylor Harding

When someone asks me what has been bothering me, I lie. I act like the question confuses me, like there is nothing wrong at all. Or I will say something about how my allergies have been acting up or about how I barely got any sleep the night before. I will convince them it’s a minor problem, one they should not dive into deeper. I never let them know the truth because I do not want to come across as overly emotional or whiny. I do not want to make a fuss out of my problems. I would rather listen to others complain about their petty ones and think to myself they don’t know how good they have it. 

When someone invites me out with them, to a party or to a restaurant for dinner, I lie. I tell them I am stuck at work or sick with the flu, the same way I used to tell high school friends I couldn’t see them because I had to study or because my parents wanted me to stay home. A part of me hates being alone, but I use excuses to isolate myself. I rarely have the energy to socialize, especially around friends who are going to expect me to laugh and smile at all the right times. I don’t want to force happiness and I don’t want to show them my misery, so it’s easier to stay home.

When someone asks me how I’m doing, I lie. I use the word fine. I take one exciting story from my weekend and tell them about that, leaving out the other moments when I cried myself to sleep and struggled to rise from bed in the morning because I didn’t see the point of getting dressed when there was nowhere to go. I make them think I am okay. Better than okay because I do not want them to worry. I do not want them to pity me. I do not want them to ask how they can help because there is nothing they could do anyway.

When someone asks me how I spent my weekend, or asks me what my plans are for the following weekend, I lie. I talk about places I’m going to visit or friends I’m going to see or I might even use the phrase I’m not sure yet. But I am sure. Because it’s always the same. Nothing ever changes. The days repeat themselves. I am going to spend my weekend inside, wishing I were someplace else. I am going to torture myself by replaying awkward moments inside of my mind and tearing myself apart over every little mistake. I am going to sleep as much as possible and ignore texts. I am going to dread Monday, even though Sunday isn’t much better.

I always lie. It’s easier than looking someone else in the eyes and telling them I’m suffering every single day. They wouldn’t want to hear such an ugly truth anyway. TC mark

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