Tag Archives: “Brad”

The Little Lie

I do my best to remain truthful in all aspects of my life, including avoiding “white lies.” My non-essential memory bank tends to resemble room temperature Swiss cheese: little holes where things can just slip through and the rest is kinda gummy that holds on tightly to things that land on it. Phone numbers for elementary-school friends are in the gummy section, lies easily fall through the holes. Aside from the generic “Okay” response to the person in the elevator that asks how I’m doing, I try to remain honest.

But there’s this little lie I’ve been telling people I don’t know well, mostly people in my office building. I’ve been telling this little lie for a few months and I’ve told it twice today.

Twice today two people who don’t know each other told me at different times of the day that my pants are looking like they’re going to fall off. I replied, as I do anytime someone says something like that, with, “Oh, thank you,” kinda blushed a little and tried to avoid their eyes… because I knew what they were going to say next and I knew I was going to tell them a lie.

“How are you losing weight?” or “What’s your secret?”

Because people in my office don’t need to know the intimate details of my mind or emotions, because people in my office don’t know anything about me aside from my typing speed, because I know my voice will catch and my eyes will start to water, because I know the truth hurts me more than the lie hurts them… I lie.

“Oh, just paying closer attention to what I eat.”

Because people in my office don’t need to know that break-up depression is affecting my appetite. Because people in my office don’t need to know that I’ll be hungry, start to cook something, and then remember how he liked it or how he’d put red pepper flakes all over it or that he didn’t like it, and suddenly my heart is in my throat making it hard to swallow, my stomach is churning and threatening nausea, my mind is rapidly running down guilt-trip lane and I can’t think about food anymore.

Because people in my office don’t need to know that break-up depression is the most effective diet I’ve been on in years.

Because people in my office don’t need to know this, I tell a little lie.

When Will It Stop?

I almost drove up there tonight.

I don’t know what made me consider it, but I know what made me not go: the last look I saw on his face. That look of deep hurt and anguish, feelings I had caused and could not take away. What I saw that night haunts me still, tortures me with guilt and shame. The thought of seeing that look on his face is what kept me home.

Because any tiny stupid hope I might have of him actually being glad to see me, pointless hope that he wants me back as much as I want him, futile hope that we can work things out, all of that is overshadowed by that look.

God I miss him.

 

August 13, 2013
Some days it just takes a while before I remember why I know he doesn’t want me back:

Bobby, I'm so glad you dropped the -Stage 5...

 

He was one of the 3 people that liked that post on his wall. And I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

And, yes, B.M.M., that’s for you. You done creeping, yet?

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Tears

I’ve been doing ok the last couple of weeks. Had a girlfriend Carrie over and she let me cry and get mad and didn’t judge. She nudged me to go out and be with people. While out with Carrie one night I met a guy and we hit it off. We talked long into the night and swapped digits. I’m hoping to see him again soon.

Today, while checking emails between Doctor Who episodes on Netflix on my Apple TV, my screensaver started up. And there are pictures of him still on it.

I went through my phone and deleted nearly 100 pictures from my Photo Stream to prevent it from happening again.

And now I can’t see for all the tears.

Damn.

When will it stop hurting?