live lie

There seems to be an underlying thread of make believe in my life. A large part pretend, a good part dishonest: with myself and innumerable others. It seems as if it is so much easier to tell others what they want to hear than the truth or cruxes of matters. Why? Because they cannot accept things that don’t fit in neatly with their lives, their feelings, their views.

If I look at the past year of my life I see that I have remained silent, inert and unyielding. I spoke no words to defend me, for I knew they would fall on deaf ears. But in this silence I reached a complacent loneliness, a resigned recognition of the loss of intelligent argument and respected disagreement. I came to realize, they wouldn’t accept my variance from the norm, my deviating values and logic. And of this rejection, the snubs, rebuffs and total disregard of opinion: I was completely responsible.

The difference in culture, wasn’t a result of an education and field of experience vastly divergent from theirs, and therefore did not account for my contradictory opinions and lifestyle. But my refusal to adapt completely to their views was to blame for my waywardness. I am still to be faulted for being a flawed, stubborn individual. there is great fault, after all, in holding values dear to your heart; values instilled in you as a child; values that have served you well all your life.

Instead of voicing my arguments; tired of never going forward, I relied on silence. The deception of silence was near flawless. Silence never confirmed or denied, accepted or rejected, agreed or disagreed. Silence was my weapon, silence was my curse. My silence bought me peace from incessant nagging, but thrust the loneliness of appearing aloof and distant in the deepest reaches of my heart. Silence, though not torture, brings but small comfort. In it, there is none of my truth. It is artful, my artificial silent self. because in the silence are the lies.