Big fat liar

I’m a liar. I’ve been lying to myself and to everyone else for some time now. I want what I say to be true, but it’s just not. I can’t handle the images in front of me because they remind me of the truth. There’s one who knows, knows what’s in my heart. One who’s oblivious to those images that sting me.

I sit alone and dream of those things that I’m beginning to believe I’ll never have. Maybe they’re not meant to be mine. I try to be grateful for all those things I do hold — and they are wonderful things — but inside there’s still a piece missing, and I want it filled.

I make jokes. I laugh. I make a million and one excuses. None of that is real. The heartbreak is real. The longing is real. But I can’t expose that. I can’t reveal that I am once again a failure. I mean, it has to be me, right? I am the common denominator.

I see those who have what I’ve always dreamed of and I’m ashamed to admit my jealousy. I don’t want it, but I can’t get rid of it. I’ll continue to lie, or better yet, avoid the subject all together when I can.

I’m tired. I say I’ve given up. I wish that were true. I still hold onto that little sliver of hope, that string that’s barely there. I’ll continue to hold on, waiting for that final break . . . I wait for that little sliver of hope to disappear. I welcome that release. I look forward to the loss.

This is an old post that is still very true. I deleted it a while ago and am resharing it now because of this post at The Daily Post that encouraged its readers to explore what was lurking in their Drafts folder.

Funny enough . . . I just realized that I originally posted this exactly 2 years ago.

2 responses to this post.

  1. This feels relatable but probably for a whole different reason that what you were writing this for 😦 ~hugs~


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