And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed...

“And all of our friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess
No, they don’t know who I am really am”

~Brandi Carlile, “The Story”


Everyday I lie to almost every person I encounter.

Everyday I put on a mask that tells everyone I meet that I am a normal, sane, competent, well-adjusted person.  It says I am ordinary, common.  It says I’m safe.

It hides the scars, the nightmares, the distrust, the paranoia, the gaping holes in my life experiences, the laundry list of excursions into the sordid and kinky, the roll call of failed relationships, that I’ve nearly killed someone, that I’ve stood by and let someone be killed.

A lot of people would say we all wear masks.  (Wasn’t there a Billy Joel song…?)  To a certain extent I agree, but not to the extent of what I hide on a daily basis.

Some would say I’m just being private about my life and keeping a stiff upper lip.

To me, it feels like active lying.  Every single day.

I so commonly feel so completely out of place.  I feel so entirely distant from other people I know in so very many ways.

I’m told many mentally ill people feel like they’re being false, untruthful to people in general by trying to fit in and act normally.  Perhaps it’s just a feeling without a lot of substance…

But on many days it really does involve active lying.  If you ask and I don’t trust you extraordinarily, I will tell you everything is fine.  Everything is good.  I’ll talk about the weather and yard work.  I will talk with you about something inane and normal and safe.  I may be in pain, or recovering from a horrible nightmare that lingered.  I may be running on 3 hours of sleep, or still fuming from a fight on the homefront.  I may be completely overstressed by work or money worries.  But you won’t hear a single snippet from me if I don’t trust you quite a lot.  I will be wallpaper, totally safe and in the background.

I could be planning rebellious activities counter to the government.  I could be hiding the marks from handcuffs and teeth.  I could be fighting a large government social agency so my grandmother isn’t homeless.  I could be hiding my therapy and psychiatric visits.  I could be hiding a somewhat legendary, violent temper.

But I am a fantastic liar, and you don’t even know it.