I lie to myself all the time. I tell myself it’s going to be okay when I know it’s not. I tell myself I am strong when I know I am not. I tell myself I have hope when I don’t. I tell myself I’m still willing to love when I am completely drained.
I lie to myself because it’s so much easier than facing reality. I lie to myself because it’s hard to accept the facts of life, that I may not always look the way you want me to, or feel the way I want to. I lie to myself to create a world in my mind where everything is okay. Where, even in the external world, I can turn to this inner world and be who I want, feel how I want.
I lie to myself because I cannot control what others think of me or how they act around me, but I think of scenarios of how I wished it would have happened instead. People who I wish never left, feelings I had that weren’t reciprocated, beauty that I want to see when I look in the mirror. I lie to myself because in my world these lies are my reality.
When I’m alone at night and have no one to turn to, when I’m waiting on a call or text that never came, when I’m waiting for a job that never got back, I tell myself it’s going to be okay. I don’t believe it right away, but eventually with this belief in my head I find comfort.
I tell myself the things I wish I could hear from others. I tell myself the words that I never heard growing up. I tell myself the lies that I wish were truths. I lie to myself because my choices are as follows: to dwell in a world that is unkind, unforgiving, and cold, or to thrive in a world where I can re-imagine my life the way I want it to be.
I lie to myself because I hope, someday, that these lies become the truth.