I have been putting off writing all day. In the morning, I felt a vise-like grip on my chest and my throat felt as though it were closing up on me. This is my reaction to stress and anxiety. My heart felt heavy. It lasted well into the evening. I couldn’t settle down to anything. I knew this was the day. My day of reckoning. One of the promises that I made to myself at the end of last year was that it would be my last year of being in any way, shape or form selfish, dishonest, or dependent. And I had to admit to Trey* that I’d been dishonest with him since we first started talking. About who I am. Where I am in my life. I pretended to be my fantasy self–a woman who had it mostly together, was successful in work and life, who’d been through some really difficult times, but had recovered enough to be living a reasonable well-rounded life.
I told him that I was working in my own business as a graphic designer of books. Lie. I told him that my children live with me. Lie. Every day with Trey on the phone I was living a lie and telling a lie about so many things.
Why did I do it? Because I’m used to it. It probably started when I was a child. It usually wasn’t anything big. But it’s a habit that continued, and continued, up until this day. Because I never wanted people to dislike me or look down on me. I was a chameleon, changing colors for whomever I was around. People pleasing.
I won’t justify it. I’m sure there are reasons for it. I’m sure I understand it on most levels. But I don’t want this post to be about that. About my pathology.
What’s ironic is that Trey is probably the one person who would take me as I am. In my impoverished state. Fighting for the right to spend time with my children. Chubby. Messy. Fucked up. He would probably even have helped me. I’m pretty sure I’ve trashed the one relationship in my entire lifetime that could have been wonderful. I’m pretty sure I’ve hurt the one man I’ve ever known in my life who wanted to be there with me and beside me to protect me and help me fight my battles. Remorse, yes. Regret, yes. Self-reproach, yes. But that is not what this post is about either. This post is about Trey. One of the most beautiful people I’ve come across in a long, long time. He makes me laugh. He tells me he loves me every day. He listens when I go on about cooking. He amuses me with funny things he finds on the net. He loves me when I’m not being lovable. We go to sleep at night with the phones on, mine next to my heart, he with his ear piece in. I wake him up with my snoring. He wakes me up with his purring. He helps me when I am angry and hurt. He talks to me. He consoles me. He tells me how he feels. He doesn’t talk to me when he’s in a scary place at times because he doesn’t want to affect me, he wants to protect me. He wants to love me. He wants my love.
And what do I do? Invent a current life based part on a past life and part on fantasy. I’ve done that every day for the past three and a half months. I’ve been deceitful. Dishonest. Dissembling. Fake. Unscrupulous. Hypocritical. Shady. And in doing so, I’ve broken trust over and over and over again with Trey. And today is my day of reckoning.