There's This Lie I Told You

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The idea of honesty was planted in my mind, so I mused with it. Transcribed from another document.

Submitted: October 08, 2012

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Submitted: October 08, 2012



I'd created the scenario for what would've happened, had I told you the truth behind the entire situation I was in, and it didn't play out well in my head.  So, in the paranoid panic I'd put myself in, I'd decided that I would fabricate the wholeness of me to you in the simplest form I knew; by not even uttering the ideas that'd led me to this ground I stood on.  For some reason, I felt like not telling you was the same exact thing as lying to you, because you were in my life and I'd felt that the whole time I had knowledge of such a thing, that you had the right to hear it.  As it ate away at me, I slowly realized that what I was doing was honestly lying right to your face every time I looked at it; as I peered into your eyes, right into the very fabric of your soul, that I was lying to you, and knowing that made me feel even worse about the predicament I was slowly wrapping myself up in.

Pulling myself out of the idea that (although I hadn't) I'd lied to you, I began feeling the slightest bit of relief the more and more I allowed that feeling to sink in.  Occasionally slipping into the daunting thought processes of guilt and panic, I wondered how long this all would take until I'd completely gotten the entirety of it out of my head.  Through deep introspection and exultion of the soul, I slowly became calmed; without meditation and exuberance, I found the thought ever so slyly slipping itself back into my thought patterns and again became diseased with the guilt and remorse I'd felt from keeping the secret I'd kept.  I'd often compare it to a demon that would lurk in the depths of my being; that would come out from time to time to torture me in the metaphysical sense of being.  All I wanted was the exorcism to occur, and without any damage to occur.  I knew that there was no avoiding it, and that the only real way to rid myself of what I found haunting my daily life was to openly discuss it with you when I felt that the time would be right.

Just as I felt it was time for me to be honest about what was really going on in my life, I realized that what I wasn't telling anybody was nothing; that in all actuality of the situation, I was not lying, but constantly searching for something to share with those I found around me.  All I'd wanted was to give them a little insight I eventually found in the keys of a typewriter, at the bottom of a beer bottle, outside my front door on my patio, and, most of all, in the constant quiddity of hours and hours spent in silence; deep in thought about how shallow the reality of our lives were, and even deeper into the very obsession over something as simple as the "sin"-ful act of lying.

Honestly, if it wasn't for lying, we'd all be enemies.

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