Undercover

I'm not sure what to do with this space right now.

Back when I started it, it had a purpose of sorts.

No, it had an optimism of sorts.

That's not it either. I guess it mostly had a sense of denial. Which then turned into optimism.

And then things took a turn for the worse.

And worse.

(While other bad things happened, too.)

And despite my attempt at pretended optimism, the truth is, it's just going to get worse from here. Some days it will be slower, some days it will be faster, but at the end of the day? It will be worse than it was at the beginning.

***

"He wanted to talk to us so we'd understand what was happening now. The reality of it. I mean, from here on out."

I looked at her.

"Yeah. I looked at him that way, too. I told him of course we understand what's happening and the reality of it."

***

Honesty's not much more than a word. Even then, it means nothing if even one person involved has a different definition.

***

I'm back to being a bit in denial, again, actually. It's not that hard; just means avoidance of a very precise nature.

I've been dealing with things in such a compartmentalized manner, trying not to let something from one area tip over to the next, that the idea of letting go is becoming more and more foreign to me.

So between avoidance and unfamiliarity, all the things that were to help make me cope languish for now.

That made more sense when it was in my head.

***

I want to talk to him but I don't because I don't trust myself not say something that would be baffling for him to hear and impossible for me explain. (Replace impossible with tiring...or tiresome...or both...and it's probably even more accurate.)

"I envy you."

"You're so full of it."

"I expect too much from you."

"I don't expect anything from you."

"I've nothing to say."

"..."

Actually, these weren't really the ones that worried me. Selective omission at its best.

***

I'm trying to remember not take him for granted.

Once, I would've thought it a burden. A concession to a lesser me.

I would have vehemently denied it. Denied him.

***

When I was fairly young, I would lie all the time. ALL the time. White lies. Inconsequential lies. All directly related to me. To protect information about me from everyone. What book I was reading. What game I'd been playing. Which homework I'd already finished.

I wanted to keep something of myself. I wanted to stay in control of what people knew of me. This is how I did it.

I was startling good at it. Which is how I found out what an excellent memory I have. Because I never got caught. Because I never tripped up.

The first time I lied about something of importance, and got away with it, I stopped with the white lies. They weren't necessary anymore; the knowledge that I could warp reality anytime I wanted to suit myself, even if it was only on a very small scale, was enough for me to feel I was in control.

***

He almost always told the truth. I mean, I'm sure he hadn't a few times, when he was younger, but that had been a long time ago.

I know, because he lied to me about three months in. And again, a year in. And again, about 10 years in.

He has a very good memory. But not the right kind for lying.

I trust him more than anyone else I know.

And I don't believe in lying in to him.

***

All of this may or may not be made up.

Either way, it's still bullshit.

But it's my bullshit for now.