Half-truths and deception.

It is all well and good to lie. We all do it, I believe. In fact, it very well may be an intrinsic part of our human nature.

I have made an art of lying, fronting, falsifying information. It suits me, though I wish it did not. I cannot so easily lie to everyone; there are a few people who know the difference.

In the past, my lies were a matter of survival. Pretending to be "okay" because, if not, the consequences would have been severe. At first, that was all. Only for survival. Then it became easier to lie, easier to cover the truth or bend it to suit my needs. Easier to lie, because the truth drives others away. It soon was my second nature. Yes, I am doing well. Yes, all is safe, no issues at hand. Yes, I am doing the best I am able with what I have.

And still, I do the same. Except that I cannot seem to stop lying: not to others, not to myself. Even when I manage to admit that I am unwell, I hesitate in relinquishing the entire truth. Even now, there is so much more on my mind than this. I simply cannot bring myself to come to terms with all occuring right now.

Very nearly a month ago, I attempted something boundlessly stupid. It was something I scarcely recall, and yet something that seemed right at the time. I do not know why it keeps coming back to this: the urges, the clues, the words. And the truth. The painfully brutal truth. I really do not know why I am writing this.