She asked for the truth, and I lied. I lied and I knew that she knew, that she chose to believe me.
When you’re physically hurt, your body numbs itself, but only for a period of time. Eventually your body feels again. But what if you’ve been hurt in other ways? What if all you do all day is sit at home, the curtains drawn, the darkness comforting you? What if nothing matters to you anymore, what if all you have is your head and your thoughts? Are you numb?
Nothing’s changed. Another lie- what will that do to me? I came to our meeting feeling cold and tired, I left feeling just the same. Nothing’s changed.
Lying is protection. A kind of assurance. Those who choose to believe- and I truly believe it’s a choice- have found a way of comforting themselves. I pull the coat tighter around me. I hate the cold and the uncertainty, but I can do nothing about it.
People say that we should live each day as if it’s our last. They talk about traveling, climbing mountains, exploring. Does that mean that spending each day at home is wasting our lives? Wouldn’t it be a way of facing our thoughts instead of ignoring them? Wouldn’t it be more challenging than any adventure in our lives? We would learn more about ourselves spending a day alone than a month of physical challenges. Is not finding out how we truly feel a thousand times more rewarding than discovering the world?
I left knowing that my lie comforted her. I left knowing that she would never seek to hear from me again.
There is no-one to trust but myself. Not the stars, not the sky. Not the people that pass me by as I walk. Not the cold, nor the snow, and especially not the rain.
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I don’t know what I came expecting today. I don’t know what I wanted. Maybe I wanted an answer, any answer, whether it was the truth or a lie.
I should have known not to ask. Each question leads to another, each answer opens up thousands other possibilities. And even if we just sat there, saying nothing… I know that it would have been the same. Every silence, every unspoken word was heard and understood. A conversation is not all talking, the spaces in between have meanings as well.
It was cold. I knew that she hates the cold, she always did.
I felt weak. I felt like she was stronger because it was I who asked the question, it was I who was uncertain and wavering. I felt like she knew a lot more than I did, that she had all the answers. Maybe she found comfort in this. Maybe we all find comfort in knowing that those around us are as weak as we are, just as confused and just as unsure. Maybe giving answers makes us feel powerful.
It’s raining now. The sky cries for us, the heavens mourn us. My tears fall just as freely now. I cry for what happened today, I cry for myself, and I cry for her. I cry because I will never stop asking questions, because I will never get the answers I need. I cry because it’s cold, because it’s raining. I cry because the people that pass me by aren’t.
I cry because I know that I will never ask the question again.
