Monday, March 16, 2015

Hanging on a Telephone Wire.

Lying is like a knife stuck through a major artery: I want to pull it out, but I know I could bleed to death if I do. The blade is sealing off the flow, and keeping me alive... even though it should kill me.  

Before the past five years of my life, I think I could count the downright dishonest lies I had ever told on one hand.  I remember the childhood ones very clearly, and the guilt that ate away at me until I told the truth. 

Not that any lies are okay,  But, I think we all lie a little every day:  
      "I would love to play My Little Ponies," is really, "No, I would not love to play My Little Ponies, but I love you so I'll do it, gosh darn it."  
     "A tornado in your Sim City!  That's terrible!"  I can say that with such gusto that I startle my son-- who just reported the inclement cyber weather--into drastic Sim saving actions.
     I always say I'm okay.  Even when I'm not.  
We lie so others don't worry.  We lie to protect other peoples' feelings.  We don't tell the truth because we're scared.  

It's easier to lie, sometimes, than to tell the truth. And that's the truth of it all.

So... When does it hurt more to keep the knife in,  than pull it out and start administering to the wound?   

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