as I walk

the journey to becoming me



I never set out to really lie…
I consider myself an honest person…
I try to be authentic…
But I want you to like me…
I don’t want to cause a rift…
I don’t want you to get hurt…

Things spiral.
It goes from a simple omission to a flat out lie.
I lied before I even knew what the real answer would be.
Lies cause rifts.
Truth doesn’t.
Lies hurt others.
Liars are viewed as unlikable.

So why the lies?
Nature/original sin?
It seems easy?

What are my lies?
There are the “white” ones that I’ve told – for instance my weight on my driver’s license.
There are the “polite” lies – I’m fine; Good to see you; I’m happy for you
There are the “hiding” lies – (we’ll get back to this)
Then there’s the “I don’t know how to say the truth without it turning into a fight so I’m just going to suck it up and say” – “Nah, it’s all good”

The last two are weighing heavy on me.  I’m not the best at communication.  I’ve grown leaps and bounds over the past year or so, but it’s still really challenging.  Any argument (even totally civil) scares me.  I worry that the other person will think less of me, that they’ll withhold love, a love that I so desperately need.  I worry that I’ll be terrible at having this meeting of the minds that I’ll blow up and exacerbate the situation further.  So rather than dealing with the matter head on, like a functioning adult, I say I’m not angry, or frustrated… and in turn, it leads to a deeper anger and deeper frustration… but I’m not really sure what I can even do about it.  So I say it’s all good and take out the trash…

Which leads me to the omission
So I say it’s all good and take out the trash and have a cigarette.  It started in North Korea.  I’d take a cigarette if it was offered – because it’s the polite thing to do.  They don’t have much of anything over there, and if they want to share that moment with me, I had to say yes.  When I got back home, every once in a while under stressful situations I’d have one.  Nothing really to write home about.  A pack would easily last me a couple of months.  It was more of a “In case of emergency smoke this” type of deal.  Then I got “sick”.  By sick I mean, I ended up dealing with mental illness and went to a partial hospitalization program for 2 months.  Rehab, 12 step programs, and PHP are the places to go if you want to pick up smoking.  It started off a little bit here and there… and has since steadily increased.  I’m not up to a pack a day or some foolishness… but… it’s habitual.
I don’t want my nieces to know.  I don’t want to be a bad example.  I don’t want to smell gross.  I don’t want to flush money away.  I don’t want to wind up with a disease.  But the truth of the matter, is that I feel I still need it… just for a little while longer.  Maybe when my lighter runs out…

I guess I forgot another type of lie:
Lying to myself.


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