Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies ...

Lies and the people that tell them, sounds like an Oprah episode - wait, she's gone, well maybe Dr. Phil can cover it. I can see it now, Dr. Phil sits opposite an older woman, he is on the edge of his chair, the light is focused on them, darkness all around as she reveals how her man has lied and continues to lie. He holds her hand as she sobs and collects herself before continuing. Eventually, she finishs and he shakes his head, pats her on the knee and looks into the camera to reveal his feelings with only a glance before cutting to a commercial. The fun begins when they return from commercial break and the shamed male is dragged to the stage where another chair magically appears and the flogging begins. Wow, that description reveals just how much of that show I've actually seen. Anyway, I don't care what anybody says, everybody lies so put the high horse away.

I sat talking to a female co-worker the other day as we discussed another co-worker (isn't that what goes on 1/2 of time at work?) and their apparent (obvious?) betrayals of the truth. She looks at me and says "I hate to be lied to" and I instinctively replied "who does?" In this situation, the lies were especially egregious since they were assembled around and about us, so it was a more malicious situation. Yeah, I'm sure you sense that I'm getting ready to differentiate lies or you thought I was. Well, really, I was going to say how I sat there and started thinking about all of the lies I tell - to the world and myself, but I couldn't find any that included personal attacks on others. No, I'm not a saint or lover of mankind, but at that moment I could think of none. Anyway, I reflected on my deceptive history as recently as the beginning of this week.

The week seemed to be a good one as I considered it Sunday night before drifting off to dreamland, but it all changed when my eyes opened less than eight hours later. The only way to describe it is someone unknown/unforeseen force had entered that night - like a storm front that moved in but this was not predicted (wait, weather forecasting is horrible so maybe this is just like that) and it proved to be rather stubborn. I tossed and turned drifting in and out of sleep with sporadic dreams (in one, I was driving through a park with my late grandmother) which ended with me opening my eyes, glancing at the clock and considering how to get up. Eventually, I grabbed my cell and text'd a couple people at work stating a family issue (not exactly a lie since I am related to myself) - it may be unbelievable, but that simple act of sending multiple texts required a herculian effort. With texts sent, more time was bought, so I rolled over and drifted off with repeated awakenings (rinse, repeat). Eventually, I sat up and picked up the phone to reveal a few response messages that I'd somehow not heard - they basically were well wishes from co-workers, but they were not affective on my mood.

I stumbled to the bathroom and leaned and stared into my own eyes in the mirror - it was not a good feeling, I had no respect for the stranded man in the mirror (insert obvious Michael Jackson song reference). I stared at the toothbrush knowing it had to be done and then I thought about the old Irish Spring commercials where a shower invigorated people, so I turned on the shower, checked the water temperature, opened the window, prepared toothbrush and stepped into the steamy waterfall. I stood with water running over and down my bald head as I ran the toothbrush over my teeth. I leaned back with mouth fully open and rinsed while reaching outside shower curtain, tossing brush into sink (yes, it made it). I quickly finished the shower and dried, but the mood enhancement failed to engage. The next monumental chore was dressing (harder than you think), I did pause to reflect on possibility of shaving but then knew it was too much work to take on at the moment and who cares how I look anyway? I pulled on the jeans from the floor and a black polo and descended into the kitchen.

Food seemed logical at this point but I couldn't forget how tired I felt. I calculated the number of hours slept and compared to my knowledge of criteria for a "good night's sleep" and everything seemed to fit. I swallowed a few Tylenol for the headache that hadn't arrived yet and gathered my belongings. I stood at the door and took a deep breath before exiting the safety of the house. The overwhelming heat slapped me in the face, but I was in the car and making strides towards the office. I remembered both the eating and lack of energy in the car - stopping at store for doughnuts and caffeine charge drink (yes, a horrible combination for both breakfast and the mood). The other cars on the road irritated me as I floored it and maneuvered traffic - yes, everybody was stupid. I was in my office before I knew it, exhausted as I inhaled the food/drink while trying to avoid any and every other person in the office.

The first co-worker popped his head into my office before I could pretend to be on a conference call. He immediately asked if everything was okay and my inner voice screamed no but luckily only I heard it. I proceeded to tell the guy that my dad had fallen and spent the morning at the hospital where I had assisted. I complained about being phoned the previous night as he lay in his apartment. My stupid brother had called and I had had to step in (as usual) since they are so useless. My dad is a dick, but what am I supposed to do, ignore him? He's okay, some pain, he's resting at home. At this point, you may think my dad did fall, but no. Actually, I haven't talked to my dad in months. Well, all of this talk was convincing and he shook his head and told me to let him know if I needed anything. Of course, he proved to be my conduit for spreading the story - it went viral in the office an hour later. Other people relayed their parent stories and how they had to do the "right thing" too (were they lying too?). I swear it got to the point (like now) where I actually believed it happened. While dad did get better, my mood didn't and here it is 3 days later and I am still managing with remnants of the fog.

Plain and simple lie there, no gray area, but in this case it was told to hide the embarrassment and shame of my problem(s). Seriously, how do you call work and tell them you'll be late because you can't seem to drag yourself out of bed? How many places would accept that? Can you say "my depression is acting up today"? No, no, no, because there is stigma attached to it - we all know it and are probably guilty of promoting such an attitude. I think I had a point when this post began - just feeling ashamed of my condition and the stupid lies told to keep from a more negative image of myself. How else could this be handled?