I haven't had time to write. I haven't had time to think. I haven't really had time to do anything. Why you say? All because of a lie, I respond.
I was lied to. It was a big one. As if there is some hierarchy of lying. But, we've all collectively, subconsciously agreed to this scale of lying. When did this become ok? It had to have started at the beginning. It had to have started with some basis. But, we pretend that we're all not liars, and that there aren't consequences to everything we do.
Aren't we all taught not to lie? Aren't we all taught the farce, the lie, of not lying? However, we live in a society who doesn't learn, and doesn't practice, doesn't care, and I realize that I've brought a life into that world.
Lies grow. Lies spread. What an unproductive waste of human energy. But, it's not the first time we've all seen examples of our wasted efforts. Our world is being built on a mountain of lies. The difference is when one lie sweeps itself into our homes, attacks our very beings...that's when it seems to matter most. Am I right?
Do I sound bitter? Perhaps, I am, on this subject. Yes, I am.
This lie, this time, blindsided me. It hit me in my gut with the force of a tornado throwing a roof chunk. The air and all of its molecules stopped. I was in shock. At first, I was in shock.
Then, the repercussions of this lie, and the far reaching black, slimy, tentacles of this lie began to awaken in me. They began to squeeze my brain, my heart, my lungs. And my brain, my heart, and my lungs began to harden, turning to cold, grey stone, right there in my body. I could feel it. I could actually feel it happening. I could feel and see the spreading of this lie.
And then, the anger. This lie was no ordinary, garden variety, tiny,white lie. No, this was the life threatening, life changing, dark, black kind of lie. And this lie could have a huge effect upon my child. My innocent, unwary, small child.
This anger was a new anger for me. I've not had this type of anger before. I'm not even sure that the word "anger" is the word to use. I'm not really sure that it fits. The word anger does not have enough syllables.
To look at my child, or any child for that matter, and not be able to put your crap aside, whatever the crap is, well, that's just stupid. It's unbelievable. It's stunning to me. I cannot believe people. I can make good healthy decisions about the environment that I want my child to be in, no matter what's going on inside of me. I can do that. And I'm not special. So, if I can do it...well, then, any other stupid mother fucker out there can do the same.
It's when we choose to be selfish, when we choose to be a fuck up...when we choose to be a shitass...then ergo the problems. It is a choice. And none of that: "my parents did blah blah blah" or "this happened to me so blah blah blah". There is a fundamental choice.
There is a fucking fundamental choice. There is no compulsion...there is a choice. Compulsion has become an all to familiar excuse in our society. I can't help it...do you hear the whine? Well, fuck you and your lazy ass compulsion. That's what I say...loudly...fuck you. Compulsions have made therapists so much money, to a tune of the giant whine. I'm sick of it. We've created it. That's how not real it is...we've just created a sickness. It's not like cancer, or migranes, or even manic depressive...it's bullshit. We've created a psychosis around bullshit. Show me a compulsion and I'll show you a person using that compulsion to cover up something else...it's bullshit. The something else may be real but the compulsion is bullshit. Yes, I said it, and I'm sticking to it. (I have examples, but not enough time.) (I site one example: The hoards of men who got to jack shacks to jack off with other strangers who are jacking off. Compulsion?, you say. Bullshit, I say.)
Compulsion is just a lie. Not a sickness, a lie. We should stop making lies a sickness...they are just a lie...a choice.
The anger in me, about this lie, set forth a protective shield around my child. This lie set forth plans in my head. This lie set forth the words from my mouth that were not to be described as a tongue lashing. My words words more than swords, more than knives, more that any weapon ever invented.
My words were final. Non-combative...just final.
There were some excuses. But, these excuses dissipated with my words into the vapor that they came from. Ghosts of human communication, fading, to not be a registared thought, ever. There was nothing left but shame. And I wasn't even buying that. I didn't care about the shame. I didn't care to help anyone out of their shame. I didn't care to listen about the shame. I didn't care to listen to anything. I didn't care. The liars had made a choice. And in the face of my child, there was an unforgivable part of me that solidified.
Once you lie, that's the consequence...the removal of trust. And the lie takes away listening. No one listens to the liar. How soon we forget the little boy that cried wolf. No one listens to the liar.
Now, rationally would I forgive? Don't we all talk about how healthy forgiveness is? Yes, I know about that, too.
This is why I say it's a new emotion for me. When you have a child, I'm not sure that I will ever reach a level of forgiveness about that. I can forgive what people may do to me. During this, I found that I really cared little about any effects this lie would have on me. Maybe, I will get to that later...I don't know...maybe not. But, my child, can there be forgiveness when it's my child? This pile of shit that was given to my child to have to work through? I shielded him from most of it, but not all of it. He is smart, he is aware. Can I forgive anyone that gives anything to my child that's not sheer joy and happiness? Can I forgive anyone that exposes my child to shit, to their shit? I'm not sure. I'm just not sure that I have that in me. And I'm not sure that a mother's physiology permits it. A switch has been turned on.
I can go on. I can pretend. But, that part of me, will now always be turned on, tuned in, my senses aware...that doesn't feel like complete forgiveness to me. I have been changed because of this. As a mother, I am changed.
I was amazed that my focus what so sharp about this incident. I was amazed that it didn't wreck me. As though, having a child, somehow changed this part of me, somewhere. I just went straight to fixing, to moving on, to securing, to comforting, to insuring. As though I was wearing armor of some sort. What an amazing gift.
My advice? Don't fucking tell lies. Just don't fucking do it.
A dear friend once told me: "Your shit affects other people." I have carried that quote for years. No truer words were ever spoken.
Your shit affects other people.
No comments:
Post a Comment