Tinnitus of the Lie

Lying and me—me and lying

I barely remember a time

when—

my mind didn’t failsafe into a lie

~

not much in recent years—but,

before my lies unravelled—and—caused more damage

than I could've thought—wanted

~

I remember believing in honesty—integrity

values I hold in the highest regard

but struggle with

every day

~

lying stings at first—you feel the pangs

in your stomach—

like acid reflux from that curry

or the terse words your teacher said that time

that has stayed with you—for what feels like an eternity

~

this is the point at which you make the declaration—the promise

to never lie again—be someone of integrity

~

that's how things should play out—

but—

as so often is the case with life

things don't play out the way we'd hope they would

~

sometimes, if you lie again quickly

to cover the first,

you can redirect the acid reflux—

the sting will pass,

but the feeling lingers—

the longer you hide, the harder to fight,

to own up, take responsibility

~

lying, excuses and me, me, excuses and lying

~

so many lies are said—made as excuses for the truth

we want to escape the hard realities,

want to hide them—bury them

often out of duty—of love (confused and poorly-thought-out, but understandable)

or simply because—

we don’t want the world—our close-knit, intimate world

to know who we really are, what we really do and why we really do it

~

if we even know

justified or not—reasonable or not—serious or not,

lies, even when they represent excuses

are not worth it

~

you feel bad the first few times you lie as an excuse—

in time you'll dull out that pain, that hurt—and—lying as excuses becomes easier

~

the lies we tell—

bastardised echoes of the truths we'd tell if we were brave—

brave or had any sense of common decency.

~

But common decency is defeated when safety is threatened

not fear of death—no,

just fear of being caught.

Our fight or flight, survivalist instincts kick in—

we lock into our lies, the stories we weave to protect our guilt-riddled selves

~

These aspects I know too well,

far too well

~

I—

wish I'd responded to the pangs

the hurt and pain—the first lies—I told forced me to feel

to prevent me from the lifelong battle—it feels like—I have with the urge to lie

even over the smallest things

if I'd fought harder—sooner

bloodied, broken by the bitter acid of truth—

the teacher was right:

"You’ll never learn"

but unburdened by the crushing weight

but relieved of the deafening tinnitus

of a memory—the lies—I carried too long.

*

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