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.