I've been musing over truth lately. Be it recent events or old scars that's led me to these meditations, I'm not too sure. When is truth necessary? When is it unnecessary?
Sometimes I'm not good with honesty. When I tell the truth, oftentimes I feel bad for it. I think it's "easier" to adjust my expectations for someone else for the sake of harmonious relations. In in the end, it's me who gets burned with the truth as it simmers inside.
I avoid telling the truth because I'm afraid of what people would say. But I'm lying to myself; convincing myself that what I really think doesn't matter. In this, a false and fraudulent picture is painted. It's an illusion. I am illusion.
I don't want to hide from the truth.
I want to be freed from other people's perceptions.
It boils to the face that I'm not true to myself.
If I were to tell the truth...
The truth is...I'm arrogant and haughty. I think very little of myself, so I make up for the deficiency by thinking that I'm better than everyone else. It's easier to judge others than myself. I don't think I've ever admitted that before!
The truth is...I'm angry. I'm angry at my family for its dysfunction. We all walk around on eggshells because we're afraid of what would happen if we said what was really on our minds. Can't we simply all just get along? My life largely revolves around my family. So when there is a breakdown with the family, there is a breakdown with me.
The truth is...I don't know when I'll be over Ty . I don't want to reconcile with him. I'm possessive of him. I need to know what he's doing. Just because we're not together doesn't mean he can be with anyone else (Wow, I don't think I've admitted that either. That's slighty psychotic.). Even if we were to get back together, nothing would change. He's not going to move. I'm not going to move (for him). Even if were together, I'd still be here, alone in my apartment, missing him. Nothing would change.
The truth is... I'm want to be loved.
The truth is...I love.
The truth is....I'm afraid.