The Truth About Lies

I hate lies. I despise them. They are like Lay's potato chips, you can't have just one. You tell one, and then you have to tell another to protect the first, and it just spirals out of control, until you're drowning in them.  Occasionally, the little white lie can help more than hurt, but that's not a very common occurrence. In my opinion, it's very rare.

Even more than lies, I hate being lied to. I'm pretty intuitive, and I can usually tell when people are lying to me.  And I just get angry as evidence of the lies stack up, and shine a spotlight on them. It's infuriating. And what's more, it feels like the lie is eating away at me. Then I start wondering why it bothers me. I still don't understand it. I'm not the one hiding the truth, so why am I the one twisted up inside?

I'm a big girl. I can handle the truth. I can be trusted with it. And in the end, everyone will feel better when the lies stop.

Bottled Up

I find that each week as I try to decide what to write about I spend quite a bit of time pondering the various aspects of my life, and how best to put them into words.  More than anything, it helps me work through whatever I seem to be hung up on for the moment.  It's cathartic, and somewhat soothing.  Even so, I find that this week I'm at a loss for a single topic to write about. There just seems to be too much that I'm trying to come to grips with, and my emotions are still a jumbled mess that to even begin committing them in writing is beyond my capabilities.

But I have made some revelations. I'm not always as together as I'd like to be, and it's ok to fall apart. I hate feeling the weakness of heartache that lingers. The tears still come after being struck with the bittersweet memories that like to pounce on me in unsuspecting moments.  But even though the snippets of the past are painful now, they are precious, and I pray that they will never be forgotten. I wish there was a way to permanently etch those inside of me, so they never fade. I wish there was a way to bottle up the smell, the taste, the sound, the feel, the essence of every one. I wish I could place them on a shelf for safe keeping, so that whenever I wanted, I could take it down, and twist the lid off, and relive the moment in perfect replication anytime I wanted.  I know it can't be, but at least they are still inside of me. So, I am the vessel, the protector of my past. The memories live on in me.

Let It Go

I've spent some time recently thinking about pain and anger. It's amazing how closely the two emotions are related. They can coexist. One can cause the other. They can create a vicious circle that spirals tighter the longer they are allowed to reign. It's not always easy to let them go, which can only exacerbate an already bad situation.  In some cases they can turn into resentment, and in the words of Malachy McCourt, "Resentment is like taking poison and waiting for the other person to die." It doesn't hurt anyone but you.

I don't like to hold a grudge. I don't even really know how to anymore. I used to, but I was never very skilled at it. I think that the only reason the rift between an old friend and I stayed around for as long as it did was because I didn't take the time or energy to do anything about.  It started with a childish argument that escalated to years of indifferent behavior. Even a few weeks after the fight I couldn't remember what it was about or how it started. All I knew was my best friend was no longer my best friend. We shared a few classes for the rest of our schooling, but our bond was never renewed. It took the nostalgia everyone seems to experience at graduation for us to talk about it. She didn't remember why she was supposed to be mad at me either. It still saddens me to think of the time we wasted. It was time we'll never get back. Even now, though we are on good terms, we aren't close, all because of momentary anger, pain and eventually pride.

Anger, and especially pain, can make you do strange things.  They can impair your judgment, and reactions to any situation. Intense, prolonged pain can interfere in every aspect of life. It throws you off-balance, so you're looking at a skewed version of the world. Nothing looks or feels quite right. There is only so much your mind, body and heart can take before it's too much. There's a reason people say not to make any major changes or decisions when feeling grief or anguish.  You aren't in your right mind, and decision making skills are reduced, if not completely missing.

There are things I've said and done as a result of pain that I desperately wish I could take back, or somehow mend. Emotional distress caused by several different sources had turned into an actual physical ache. When life seemed to start spinning out of control I reacted blindly. The consequences only caused more grief. And not just for me, but for someone I care for.  I don't know how to fix it now that I'm back in a more stable, though not painless, existence.

 I do pray that, one day, I can be forgiven for the hurt I caused. I'm not trying to make excuses for them, but I wish I could adequately explain that my actions were a product of the insane person who had taken over me, because I had mentally checked out due to the overwhelming anguish. What I did was wrong, I know.  I have to wait, now, for the other person to work through their feelings. I don't want to lose another friend to emotions that only cause more heartache by holding on to them.  But I will be here, waiting for the opportunity to do whatever I can to make it right.

Words Speak for Themselves

Occasionally, I have these spurts of inspiration. Words flow in my head and whirl around, mixing themselves up and in essence, they torment me until I write them down. Giving them life with paper and ink, and yes, I do still prefer long hand to typing. There's a certain romance to it, it seems more intimate, making the words more real. I created it, instead of tapping it out with a series of key strokes. I think it has something to do with the movement of my fingers, hand and arm as I write. There's a certain fluidness to the physical act of writing. My mother was always fascinated by how I used my hands. I never understood why completely, but she said I had a grace in the movements, a delicacy even though, as she knew, my fingers and hands are quite strong. Years of piano, flute, and the dreaded typing keep them toned. But what they, my hands, love best are a fresh sheet of paper and pen with blue ink. These two simple items join and help unleash my imagination, weaving tales that I can hardly keep up with. They give voice to my hopes and dreams, document my fears and heartache. They give breath to the words that live inside me, screaming to get out.
These sparks of creativity come and go, and I never know how long they will be around. Sometimes, it's barely long enough to write what needs to be written. Other times, it's like a series of dominos. I finish one project, and then there's another, and another, and another. Then just as suddenly as it came on, the words are gone. I don't always have control over it, and I confess, I kind of like it that way. I can force myself to continue writing, but it doesn't feel the same. Others may not be able to tell where I pushed the words out of me, but I can. I can feel the struggle as I read over the things I wrestled into being. So, I let it rest. That's when I wait patiently, watch, listen and keep the pen and paper nearby. Inevitably, it starts again. I live at the mercy of the thoughts in my head.
Alternately, I have times where I don't want to know. I would prefer my thoughts to stay hidden even from me. And I can do a pretty good job at keeping them quiet. I fill my time with things that muddle the brain, things I don't always enjoy. I fill my time with the mindless things, television and video games. I listen to music, heavy and loud. I avoid reading, and I keep the pen and paper safely tucked away. Unfortunately, these plans and techniques are never effective for very long. Sure, they keep the voices in my head quiet for awhile. Well, not really quiet, they are still there, but they usually aren't strong enough to compete with the distractions I've given myself. However, the voices get insistent, until they are all but bursting out of me. If I won't give them the attention they are calling for, they will claw their way out of me, one way or another. It isn't pleasant, and it's never convenient.
For a few weeks, I've felt the stirrings. Snippets running through my head, a word here, a phrase there. Something was beginning to take shape, but it's been vague. I haven't needed my trusty instruments yet. And, quite frankly, I've been scared of what would appear when I did use them. I find myself in a precarious position these days, both physically and emotionally. Having just one of these elements off-balance makes for some interesting creations. For both to be shaky is frightening when I feel the vocabulary wheel in my head starting to turn. So, I did what I could to tune it out. I tried not to taste the words as my mind would pair them up, group them together, and roll the results around like I do when I try to coat my tongue with a piece of chocolate. But, like a piece of chocolate, the pull was irresistible.
Predictably, the words that had been growing inside of me chose the most inopportune time to need to be free of me. I was driving from Orem to Idaho Falls slightly over the speed limit, crossing the state line, when I couldn't contain it anymore. It's obviously not safe to write while driving, especially when the creative process isn't finished. But I had to do what I had to do, and the result was surprising. It definitely wasn't what I expected. I thought it would be dark, or sad, and painful to write. Like I said, I've been emotionally compromised for a couple of months now. I braced myself as I let the lines flow through me, and what I got was a poem that made me realize that I'm not in as bad a place as I think I am. If this little blossom of a poem can sprout through my trial weary heart and mind, I'm going to be just fine. It'll probably be sooner than I expect, too.
So, here's the poem. Don't judge it too harshly, because I cherish it. It's pretty simple, and I'm not always one for rhyme, but this is what I needed right now. I've yet to give it a proper title, so for now I'm calling it The Invitation.

Hold your breath,
Close your eyes.
Make a wish
To the skies.
Throw your arms up,
Give a shout.
Spin around and
Blow it out.
My wish is for you,
And all you are.
It lives in you
Whether near or far.
The dream's alive,
Burning bright.
It's the cause
For which I'll fight.
More than that,
I'll tell you this.
I live and breathe
For your next kiss.
For your love
I'd give my all.
Because the gain
Is worth the fall.
I've glimpsed the happiness
We would share.
The choice is yours.
Jump if you dare.
Nurtured well,
The joy will grow.
Take us to heights
We've yet to know.
The path ahead is
Uncharted and new.
Take my hand,
I'll lead us true.
Side by side
We can't go wrong.
Forever together,
Steady and strong.

Now, I know how this would be interpreted to some people. It's not about what you think it is. To me this represents hope. Even though my heart is battered and bruised, it's a fighter. I still have the capacity to love through the ache inside of me. The eternally optimistic hopeless romantic still lives in me, and she's struggling to take back her place from the wounded pessimistic wraith that has taken up residence for the last few weeks. As they battle, the words will come in a flurry that will leave me dizzy. And when it's over, and Hope has won the day, I'll have something tangible to show that I survived.