So, where do I begin?  It’s been a rough couple weeks for me, folks, trying to untangle myself from a web of lies I flew into with reckless abandon.  As I sit here somewhat defeated, cleaning the sticky threads from my folded wings, I find the uncontrollable desire to write welling up in me like fresh vomit.  Sadly for you, vomit is never pretty.

Until now, I have always been one of those hopeless optimists, a real sunshine and flowers kind of gal who wanted to believe in the ultimate goodness of humanity.  Naïve is what they like to call me, but innocent I truly am.  Oh sure, everyone has issues and baggage, and I’ve got my share.  The problem is that there are two types of broken people in the world: the liars and the losers.  I, my friend, am a loser, but we’ll get back to the liars in a minute. 

My biggest deficiency is that I look for light in dark places.  I search the world over for the eternal divine flame reflected in the eyes of my fellow man… and again and again I walk with blind faith into black rooms and the door locks behind me.  This obviously stems from a combination of things that have shaped my sense of self, the least of which includes issues in my family of origin, multiple childhood molestations and two adult rapes.  Too much information for you?  Sorry, but that’s one thing about losers, we have an almost intoxicating affair with truth that seems to make other less honest individuals a wee-bit uncomfortable.  More on that later.

Still with me?  Perhaps you’d appreciate a little detail to keep this from being some cryptic, depressing monologue bulging and dripping with lame, over-used metaphors.  Two weeks ago, I got a phone call.  It went something like this:


“Hi, this is Dina.”

“Dina from school?”


“I’m sorry, I’m at a disadvantage.  How do I know you?”

“You don’t.  I’m Dina from Florida. I’m your boyfriend’s other girlfriend.”

  Ok, so right about here is when things get a little fuzzy and surreal, and Dina proceeds to spew details about how she’s been involved in a long-distance relationship with my boyfriend for the past 6 months and had unprotected sex with him twice while he was visiting his family in Florida.  She sends me a few text messages and over the course of a half an hour phone conversation manages to slip in enough personal information to convince me she is not just a random prankster who gets a rush out of mind-fucking strangers.  Her confession includes some unconvincing excuses for why she would participate in these despicable acts and an accusation of accomplice for my boyfriend’s mother.  She also musters a few pathetic apologies about her role in this disgusting charade, apparently to help her feel better about her capacity to be “the other woman.” 

This is when stuff gets really exciting.  I confront my man with my arsenal of incriminating data and make my first sad attempt to extricate him from my life.  He, being a liar, backslides into more lies and guilt-soaked sobbing to save his ass from the streets.   I force him to leave.  He reserves a U-haul, gases up his truck, then returns for more sobbing.  I agree to talk about it, he cancels the U-haul.  This miserable dance lasts for a couple days, until I insist to access to his cell phone records.  After much side-stepping and pleading from the shameful man, I finally get access and discover 6 months of daily romantic exchanges with not one, but TWO desperate whores, logged with unmistakable precision on my computer screen.  I call both women and invest several hours in interrogation to root out any necessary evils.  Despite their undeniable condition as liars, both women make some effort to reveal sufficient information to demonize the shameful man.  Of course, because they too are liars, I am left to my unwavering commitment to truth to investigate remaining betrayals that are unhelpful to discuss here.  Finally, I send the man packing again.

But this is only the beginning of my adventures into the nature of human deceit.  More dirty details leak out over another week, and the consoling and counseling of well-meaning friends and family only leaves me beaten and spinning like a top.  Turns out, when you confide in those around you about your victimization from those sick with infidelity, everyone is overcome with the strange compulsion to confess their own infidelity in the hopes of providing cathartic salvation for themselves and the other liars of the world.  Literally, at least four close companions have now come out of the “sex’ closet with me in the last few days.  Some folks even resort to immediately consoling the shameful man after a cursory agreement that he has made a terrible mistake.  And those who do not confess or have nothing to confess, either promote a quasi-militant termination of the relationship that paints any effort of mine toward forgiveness and reconciliation as a fatal character flaw or embark upon amateur therapy to help me “see” the greater lesson in my hopelessly naïve and self-destructive attraction to the liars of the world. 

Ok, I totally GET that there is a lesson here for me, BUT would it kill ya to show some genuine compassion?  Sure, all the spiritual wannabes can point to the timeless cycle of human evolution and our personal responsibility for the creation of our own reality and wag their fingers at my masochistic soul.  But I want to draw a line in the sand.  My only failing here is that I want to believe in the goodness of others.  My only sin is that I entrust my heart with those who do not deserve it.  Why is it that folks cannot stumble through the hollow platitudes of sympathy fast enough to immediately sink their teeth into the psychological analyzation of my part in this?  I am not a predator.  My sickness does not drive me to manipulate and mislead other people.  I live in COMPLETE truth, honoring my connection to emotion in every moment.  I have never betrayed anyone.  I have never lied to anyone I love in order to maintain some false version of myself.  EVER.  Even my resume is absent of a single small exaggeration.  I am not capable. 

So, yes, over the course of my lifetime, I have been a little fucking angry here and there and I’ve spiraled into depression once or twice.  Can you really fucking blame me?  But I am NOT a liar and I refuse to medicate myself with “happy drugs” and live a lie to compensate for all the fucked up shit that liars have done to me in order to be a more agreeable person for the rest of the world.  Frankly, all the liars deserve to see the honest product of their work.  They NEED to understand that deceit and betrayal have REAL and lasting consequences that ripple like waves through water.  They don’t just tidy up neatly with an apology and a sincere desire to change.  Until we truly begin to honor truth, until we stop making exceptions for lies and wrapping them in good intentions to hide away from innocent eyes, there will always be broken promises and broken hearts.   For ONLY light, only absolute truth will ever take us off this universal and timeless merry-go-round of suffering. 

Truth is only truth when no one is left in the dark.