Life’s misadventures

In truth there is release. A rage of relief and joy, a cleansing of the soul. Truth is happiness. A true and honest soul needs no company but itself. Craves nothing dishonesty bears. But it’s difficult. It takes courage, strength, assurances. And requires a whole lot of risk.

A dishonest life is unrewarding, creating a web of half truths, mistruths, deceit is time consuming and challenging. It attacks your soul daily, causes you to question every element of your being- searches for credibility in your purpose. It’s a waking numbness to life that is disgusting but manageable. An honest life is wholesome, good, worthwhile and purposeful. It is meaningful on more than one level, to the person and to society. It is productive and transparent. It’s not a challenge but a joy. It’s pleasurable and enlightening.

I’m a dishonest person. I lie all the time. To conceal things. To embellish them. To get myself into and out of situations. To hide my feelings. To protect my feelings. For no reason at all. I am a liar. More pathological than compulsive I suspect, but all the same I am a dishonest being. It’s not just my worst feature, it has become my only feature. I want to change. I have been given an opportunity to change. I’m embracing that. The fact is the transition is harder than the lifestyle. I am searching within myself, I am dredging up unwelcome feelings. I am ashamed. I am appalled. I am disgusted. I am unworthy of cleansing. I am a bad person. And I am a very very sad person. I lie because I feel uninteresting in natural form. I am uninteresting. But I had friends, family, things to enjoy. Now I am alone. Turned away from like a motionless clock on the wall. I serve no purpose. In honesty, I have exposed the horror that lay beneath. The truthful horror that I had become. For me that is progress. But no one prepared me for honesty. I am a myriad of feelings- shame, guilt, upset, loss, hatred. I am the only one who can manage those feelings. I don’t know where to start or what to do. I am disposed of like a ragged blanket. I serve no purpose to anyone and I have lost even more respect for myself. Only I can pick myself up. I don’t know why I should. The show can’t go on anymore. It was a lie. It’s me, myself, and I. A new person, learning from the old to embrace the new. It’s a shame I left it so late.

There’s no audience anymore. >

This entry was published on March 22, 2014 at 11:36 am. It’s filed under Life, mental health, well being and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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