I spent my childhood being very careful about what I should and should not say. There was always the threat of eternal damnation floating over my head. It was that mortal fear which, ironically, turned me into a passionate liar. I was tired of being judged for my thoughts and beliefs – I thought that perhaps if I just didn’t tell the people threatening the destination of my soul, God would judge me less. Who knows? Maybe he’d overlook the white lies entirely.
It wasn’t like I tried to cast spells or have coitus with everything that breathed.
But then, the lies start to weight heavily on one’s chest – the little burdens that fill your pack until it pulls ruthlessly on your shoulders, tearing skin and twisting muscle. I had to stop. It was getting impossible to keep track of the falsehoods.
These days, the only people I lie to are my parents. Somehow, I can’t shake the guilty feeling and the hellfire eyes. I don’t even believe in eternal damnation, but I don’t want to take the chance of my father having a little one-on-one with his God and flooding out his many disappointments about his worldly, rebellious daughter. Because I don’t know for sure what will happen when I die.
I do know that I don’t want to talk about it.
“Careful.” – Daily Post, Oct. 10, 2016