I Can't Breathe
Pain grips me. All up and down my left arm. It's not a heart attack, but it's like a cramp on my left side. Not scary at all. I know it's caused from the stress of these past few days so I sit here typing. This morning I did the unthinkable--I lied. It is unlike me and I'm not proud of it.
You see, I've always been the good girl. I was the girl who skipped school and came home to spend it with my mother. I was the one who confessed to cheating on an exam. I was the one who smoked a cigarette then promptly told my parents. Lying for me has always been a no no. Yet, today, out of desperation, I lied. And I haven't attempted to change the lie.
Why did I lie? I lied for a taste of freedom. I lied to not feel like dirt. I lied because I was tired of being accused of being the evil daughter. So here I am, age 53, and for the first time that I can remember, I lied to my father. It was a lie, not a deception. It was a lie to avoid seeing him because I couldn't take being in the same room with him one more time. I couldn't take the arguments, the high blood pressure, the feeling of doom. I couldn't take asking God to take me home rather than go to my father's house, so I lied. I told him I couldn't come over to take him to the doctor tomorrow because I had to work. I told him to please find someone else to take him and he tried. He called relative after relative. But we're all tired. We're exhausted with arguing, of being called vipers, thieves, criminals. He has no one left.
It was an outrageous lie and all day I suffered under it's weight, until finally my breathing became shallow and the pain ripped up my left arm. Now I'm sitting here, listening to the devil's laughter. He's finally won. I've gone over to the dark side. God doesn't appreciate a liar. Still I won't take the lie back. So I'm here, confessing it. And tomorrow I will go to the beauty shop as orighinally planned. And I'll have my hair done, my eyebrows plucked. And I'll ask God to forgive me and hopefully I'll breath again.
You see, I've always been the good girl. I was the girl who skipped school and came home to spend it with my mother. I was the one who confessed to cheating on an exam. I was the one who smoked a cigarette then promptly told my parents. Lying for me has always been a no no. Yet, today, out of desperation, I lied. And I haven't attempted to change the lie.
Why did I lie? I lied for a taste of freedom. I lied to not feel like dirt. I lied because I was tired of being accused of being the evil daughter. So here I am, age 53, and for the first time that I can remember, I lied to my father. It was a lie, not a deception. It was a lie to avoid seeing him because I couldn't take being in the same room with him one more time. I couldn't take the arguments, the high blood pressure, the feeling of doom. I couldn't take asking God to take me home rather than go to my father's house, so I lied. I told him I couldn't come over to take him to the doctor tomorrow because I had to work. I told him to please find someone else to take him and he tried. He called relative after relative. But we're all tired. We're exhausted with arguing, of being called vipers, thieves, criminals. He has no one left.
It was an outrageous lie and all day I suffered under it's weight, until finally my breathing became shallow and the pain ripped up my left arm. Now I'm sitting here, listening to the devil's laughter. He's finally won. I've gone over to the dark side. God doesn't appreciate a liar. Still I won't take the lie back. So I'm here, confessing it. And tomorrow I will go to the beauty shop as orighinally planned. And I'll have my hair done, my eyebrows plucked. And I'll ask God to forgive me and hopefully I'll breath again.
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