I just can’t trust you. Everything you say leads me to another question in my mind about the possibility of more lies being kept. How do we survive like this?
I feel a sickness - anxiety I suppose. It festers in me for only moments before it starts to become anger. It’s yelling to let it out but so many times I am forced to keep it inside. Lack of energy, mind racing taking up anything I have left. I feel I just can’t handle it but I guess I do in some unhealthy way since I am still here in my unsteady breathing.
What if it was all from nothing? What if this time there was no secret to be had? Why has the possibility of right become the ‘what if?’ Clearly because there has been so much wrong. Too much. Way too much.
It’s easier for a while to just deal with the stirring raging sickness inside, than to say words out loud. Words that nearly always lead back to the very beginning. More of your words and then more questions.
So today I hung up the phone to escape (the best I could), the uncertainties that hurt so much. They didn’t leave me but the chances of more doubt arising from your words, did. At least that is some relief.
The phone rings again. I feel sickness building up once more but with some slight relief mixed in. Parts of me wish that relief would disappear forever. Hard to answer it but harder not too. Your courage to call and your caring words allow us to take a step, put it as straight as possible for now, and then put it off until a better time. Even though most of me is numb and still very angry, I am again reminded of your sickness and feel the only empathy I have left.
Will there ever be a better time?
When dealing with a hider... a liar, you are made to become a questerson (my easy word for a person who has to question everything). You become almost expert at spotting inconsistency. There is no longer any sense to be made of nonsense, it all equals irrefutable, heart wrenching, albeit typically unidentified lies.
I didn’t bring this on myself. It was forced upon me. You choose it, not I. But now that I know the truth of your seemingly continuous deception, how much of this dreadful anxiety is placed on my shoulders by me? By my own action of picking up that phone - again?
Fault… what the hell does it matter? Hurt… how much can I take? Action… what do you do when the person you love is a liar? Answers… they seem unattainable. God... please help me.