For a long time now, she had a sneaky feeling that she had been lying to herself. It is better this way, she thought. It isn’t really a big lie. A white lie or maybe a fib. You know that lie that looks like a lie, feels like a lie but is masquerading as the truth? Yes, that one.
Lying was easier than admitting the truth anyhow, she thought. Oh wait, did this mean she had admitted it was a lie? It is surprising how easy it is to perpetuate the lie. Just continue the pretense and tell everyone that it is the truth. Soon enough even the person making these statements would believe it is the truth. Simple isn’t it?
Or is it? She had to pretend to fake her emotions towards the people involved. She was forced to engage in the futile conversations. The effort needed to recognise these relationships as significant parts of her life was exhausting and infuriating. She had retired herself to the faith that the truth would never materialise. Her lies would be accepted as the truth. Knowing herself and understanding her need to avoid controversy, the truth would never see the light. Unless she dared revolt; that being a remote possibility ten years from now. But today, the lies she would live.