Friday, September 6, 2019

Sweet Little Lies

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap. This week 7 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

My “Secret Subject” is:

What is a lie that you’ve told that you feel you were right to tell and would do it again if the same circumstance arose?

It was submitted by:


I tell lies every single day of my life.

"I'm good n you?"

"No, no I'm fine. What do you need?"

"The pain's not so bad today."

"Ehhhh, I'm doing okay."

"Sure tell me what helped you feel better. Might as well try everything!"

"We should hang out soon."

I haven't been good in years. I'm hardly ever fine. The pain is always bad, but some days are worse than others. Not doing okay. I really don't want to hear what worked for anyone unless they, too, have cfs or similar because goddamn I have tried so much already. Nothing cures what I have. And I don't get to hang out with anyone. I barely get to leave my house. I'm stir crazy with no energy for going anywhere. I can barely manage my household.

People don't want to hear that though. The questions are pleasantries not serious inquiries into how I really feel, and if I treat them as such and am honest about how bad my day is, the fastest change of subject on the face of the planet happens if not outright silence. No one likes a whiner, right? People complain about complainers and tune out the "negativity." Fuck honesty. Give people what they really want--a lie wrapped in a pretty package that makes everything easier to digest so they don't have to feel bad about trying to flirt or asking me to do something for them because, you know, I'm not working and stuck at home so i must have all the free time in the fucking world.

Yes. Yes, I *am* bitter.

I don't want to have to lie, but I much prefer the lying to the look in people's eyes when I say how I really am or the awkwardness in messages. Why the fuck does anyone ask if they don't really want to know?

I TALK OPENLY AND LOUDLY ABOUT MY ILLNESS ALL THE TIME. And yet people still ask expecting me to do the same as everyone else--be a toxic painting of positivity. Don't be real or genuine. Give them a hollow chocolate bunny--a lie wrapped in pretty painted foil full of nothing but air that crumbles and falls apart as soon as anyone examines it further.

So I lie.

What else can you do when the truth pushes almost everyone away because it isn't rewarding or gratifying and it becomes repetitive. How fucking rewarding and repetitive do you think it is for me when I live it 24/7? Lying doesn't feel good. It's isolating, alienating. But what's even more isolating and alienating is to have people stop asking altogether because they don't care to hear the answer.

I lie, too, to protect my own ego. I put off getting a cane for so long because I didn't want to have to need one. I hate seeing myself with it. I hate having to rest after I shower. I hate admitting ever that I can't do all the things I want to do, so sometimes I do them anyway or don't ask for help when I should. It's easier on me not to see that flash of irritation that says I've asked for yet another thing, and I've become a chore myself, a burden. I die a little every time I see it.

And I lie to protect the people I care about. Who wants their kid to see them crying in pain? I fake a smile way more often than I don't. I hide grimaces and push through schoolwork and chores and cooking dinner no matter how hard it is or how bad I feel. I laugh and make jokes and listen to every news update on every game and help him with his writing and his art. It's not his fault I'm sick, and in some small way, these lies give him a whisper of a normal childhood. I already don't get to take vacations to Disney World or see every new Marvel movie in theaters. We don't get out for hikes and pinterest inspired outdoor projects. No dinners out really. What can I eat? My physical life is fucking absurd, and I just want him to have some semblance of normal memories of his mom.

I lie every day, and I'll keep lying again and again and again. Every single one is a little cushion against the hurt.


Baking In A Tornado          

Wandering Web Designer    

Spatulas on Parade           

The Bergham Chronicles      

Our Prime Years                   

Part-time Working Hockey Mom 


  1. Although I understand your reason for the lie, just having to add that to what you're already going through seems to me would be another emotionally exhausting situation.

  2. Your brutal honesty is exactly what we need. I've been there (never with CFS, but in my own fucked up way). It's the constant roller coaster that will drive you crazy. Maybe it's time we quit lying and living our own truths without judgement. I hate that look myself and will do anything including causing my self pain just to avoid it. I'm here cheering you on the best way you can! (Rena)

  3. Tough topic...and I do understand but from a slightly different perspective. I was my late husband's caregiver during his battle with cancer. Everyone would ask how I was doing. I'd smile and shrug when all I wanted to do was scream "How the f$&( do you think I'm doing?"

    I know they don't help but sending hugs regardless.