The Truth about the Lies: The Knowing
"Why can't you just let it go? I mean, I know she deserve it but still-- She doesn't mean anything anymore..."
His words burn my ears from the otherside of the phone.
But I know that he is right.
Why do I obsess over proving her wrong?
Why do I need to know the truth?
The truth behind her lies?
Because I believed everyone of them.
Everytime she cried, I held her tight.
Believing that these tears were the product of some guy.
Some guy that hurt her.
Some guy that raped her.
Some guy that hit her.
Some guy. . .
That broke her insides.
Made her afraid of guys.
Made her hallucinate.
Made her become more than one person.
Made her not see me, but him.
Giving me a fat lip and choking me once, no twice.
Scaring me half to death.
I lied to her once.
Told her something like that happen to me.
She threatened me to never lie to her again.
I thought that at the time it was because
it had really happen to her.
But now, I don't know why?
Why did she scare me into never lying to her again?
Why was she allowed to lie?
Why was she allowed to tell me lie after lie,
and all I was allowed to do was find new reasons to die.
And when I tried and tried to die,
she made me feel guilt ridden and so I cried and cried.
Everyone lies I suppose.
My best friend(s).
But when she lied.
It hurt so much more.
It hurt so much that it made me feel sick.
Sick with myself for believing her.
I went against everyone and everything telling that I believed her.
My mother told me again and again, she still does.
"Everything that came out of that girl's mouth was a lie. I tried to warn you. But you didn't listen."
It angers me when she says that.
And here I am defending my Ex all over again.
Because my mother has no right to tell me I didn't listen.
She didn't listen to me.
When I told her that my step-father hated me.
That he wouldn't change.
That my family was in MA.
Not in Florida, where she made me move for a chunk of my life.
So I ignore what she says about the girl I use to love.
And I'm going out on limb when I say this,
Maybe she didn't mean to lie?
Still, I find that hard to believe now.
I'm not saying that I never lied.
I lie all the time.
I'm a fiction writer.
It's hard to tell the truth from fiction sometimes.
I can't do something wrong without eventually making it right.
I know that I have to let it go.
But how can I let go so much time, patience, belief, love and hard work that I gave to someone that lied to me about everything except her name.
Maybe some of it was truth.
But I won't believe it.
And not ever again.
I'm calling her a liar.
Someone that needs to lie to make people feel bad for her.
Because she can't just be herself and say:
"My life sucks and it sucked."
It's called reality.
Bad things happen to good people.
There's not always a reason why?
Why was my father a drunk?
Why did my mother leave for six months?
Why did I fall in love with someone I never met?
Or never will meet (did that a few times too).
Why did I believe her?
Why did I fall in love with her?
Why did I try winning her back?
Why did she come back to me, so that I wouldn't hurt myself?
Our relationship was based on a lie from the beginnning.
And after that.
She needed reasons to cover up her actions.
So she continued to lie.
And the lies.
My need to help, my tragic flaw.
Was what destroyed us.
It was our tragic fall.
She used it and abused it.
Making me help her lies.
Try and make her better.
Try and save her from something that never happen to her.
"What are you doing now?"
Type. Type. Type.
"Writing a poem."
"Oh... Alright. About what?"
Type. Type. Type.
Knowing, I think.
I'm writing about knowing.
Knowing the truth.
And what the cost of love really is.
What it means to love and believe someone,
when they're really just messing with you.
I know now.
And it don't care what was the truth.
Where the lies started.
Why they started.
If you loved me,if you ever did
at one point in the year and three months that we were together.
In the two years that we were friends.
You wouldn't have lied.
And that's what I know.