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THE manner in which all LIES mess up my life

The lies I tell are told for an intention, yet, the point is to defend the one person I love the most from a gargantuan heart attack. Then from the get go I have to grasp the fact that he already has a big heart ache. I discarded him in the darkness of my sympathy and mistreat him like the manipulating unimportant person he really is. And I would never feel bad for doing that. A sense of accomplishment for me is a sure sign that I have subjugated the demon and made it mine. The sh*t I go through on a day to day basis is supposedly NORMAL. But I am ok with being anomalous. It’s my persona at risk, not his. The truth comes out a little at a time, but… that’s as long as one allows it to. As long as someone perceives every bit of detail as truth, then in the end, are they really protecting themselves of being hurt? I can not tell my dad the concealment I have. I forbid myself to be hurt in such a manner. I should not be put down for my personality and my favorite things to do or who I want to be. It’s not a choice to be different and hurt people in the process. I would so much rather be myself and never hurt a SINGLE soul. So I have to ask when he said I better not be that way… oh that dreadful way. It took me by surprise. If I was he would never be there for me again. And how in God’s name am I to live my own life and make my own mistakes when I know that the only person I want to make happy is the father who gave me a home. Not the father who takes my home away. The Lies make it difficult to live normal… but I think living normal is way too atypical from the start.



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