To the individual at the supermarket asking me, “How are you?” to the companion on the telephone getting some information about my day, to the concerned supervisor considering how life is going beyond work. I want to let you know something… I lie.
I lie when I let you know I’m “fine.” I’m not fine, however I would rather not trouble you with my great many minimal fears springing up at the same time in my mind while I attempt to work as a “typical” person.
Tired? I’m not drained. However, in the event that I let you know my body feels like my spirit has left it and that I’m simply a shell loaded up with haziness and recollections of each and every time I fizzled at picking myself back up from the virus floor I lay on, could you tune in? At the end of the day, how does everybody make regular daily existence look so natural?
A day or two ago you asked me what I did on my free day. In the event that I let you know I went through hours scanning the web for ways I could take my life since this shell of a body feels so unfilled and weighty simultaneously, might you at any point take it? Presumably not.
So all things considered, I responded to you with the normal, worn out mechanical reaction: “I didn’t do a lot,” leaving out the part where I called the self destruction hotline multiple times just to hear a more bizarre let me know I’m in good company, while I murmur to myself, “Yes I’m.”
I’m a liar.
I lie to shield you from the truth of my inward dim privileged insights. I lie since I would rather not obliterate the picture you have of me. Imagine a scenario in which you realize that I am not the entertaining, certain individual I let the world think I’m. Consider the possibility that you knew how I can’t look myself in that frame of mind without feeling like my body is only an article used to fulfill the beasts that live on our roads.
Imagine a scenario where you knew reality behind my untruths.
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