I’m Tired of Lying

Photo by Mustafa ezz from Pexels

When a few years ago people asked me how it was going, I could tell “great,” even if my world had already started to fall apart.

I was honest. I had just left a job as an executive toward a total reinvent-myself period. I was done with that world and the toxic people there. It was time for change. I began subtracting. I missed my job and I had thrown myself (and my wife) into the unknown, but it felt great anyway.

When I was answering “great” I was honest.

After a while, life and wife started to remember me my responsibilities, and the struggle begun. Reinventing takes time. Life needs money. Healing wounds takes time and love. Love which, by the way, starts to disappear around you.

My life changed completely but it wasn’t something that could be understood easily. At some point you must tell that your gap year is over and something is moving, but the truth is that you’re back at square one.

I’m currently at square two. Enough to show that I’m restarting, but certainly far from okay. Actually, speaking about business, I’m in deep shit.

And, in a predictable vicious circle, my reinvented life is bringing down the sink anything good in my life. And, falling apart, what remains of my previous life brings down the sink my reinvented life. Reinventing yourself is hard enough. Doing it with no support from your dears is a global war that you can’t win.

Speaking clearly, my life deeply sucks and my wife has decided to separate.

We don’t live in a van. We have enough money. I’m still an engineer. I’m presentable. I’m better than 20 years ago. But this doesn’t matter, when someone wants more. The marriage is long gone already. That’s just the agony.

Anyway, other than that, I’m fine.

I mean, the only thing that’s fine it’s me. Otherwise, I’d be in an asylum already.

In short, I can’t tell the truth about my situation and my social image is starting to be a total fake. And it probably started to be a fake long ago.

The photos of our holidays told a fairy tale, while the holiday was 90% quarrels, and little of what I really wanted to do.

Talking with friends is a systematical avoidance (on both parts) of my real life, because it would spread around. And, to be honest, nobody cares anyway. Just don’t bring them down with you and they’re fine.

I don’t lie, usually. I try carefully not to lie. But an ocean of truth not told is now there, and I suppose that this is starting to count as a big lie. By not knowing, anybody has an image of my life that has nothing to do with what it is.

Everything is falling apart and, on top of that, I’m sick of hiding, of letting others imagining what’s not. Not that important, of course. But this is starting to ruin my regained authenticity. I’m an actor of a horror movie on the set of a comedy. I feel split and in the wrong place.

Is it one more sign — if needed — that it’s time for a real reinvent, alone?

Is it sign — much more probable — that I’m completely nut?

Whatever, I can’t take it anymore. Living one life is hard already. Faking more than one is too much.

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Stan Smith

Stan Smith

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I’m not Stan Smith. But either I write under a pen name or I explode. Chances are, we already met here on Medium.