Elucidating Questions

I’m so used to being told I’m not a trustworthy author of my own story

Sometimes I’ll convince myself I didn’t see something or hear something

Because I don’t trust myself

Because I was taught not to

If there’s no proof, who knows if I really experienced anything at all?

There’s no one to enforce that I’m not making things up

Of course something will happen sometimes to prove I was right to begin with

But everyone tries to tell me I’m making things up

I never know whether to trust myself or not

Maybe that’s why I never told anyone about what that boy did to me when I was younger

I don’t trust myself to be trusted

I expect people to disbelieve what I tell them

Everything I say seems to come up against a brick wall

That just tells me people don’t really trust me

It was written in my medical records

Makes things up

Exaggerates

Even the doctors won’t trust me

But I swear I’ve just been telling it like I see it all along

How I feel it

How I experience it

I was an honest person who now lies to avoid telling truths no one will believe

This world makes you fit into such strange shapes to fit in

In walks a problem

In that I knew what I was talking about until you walked in way

Sucking up chemicals to regulate the relative trauma of just sitting in a house all day doing nothing

Is that good enough?

Jesus

If I retell everything from an angle I didn’t see

People usually believe me

It’s funny because my adoptive sister growing up told these huge hyperbolic stories about things like they were worse than they were

I’ve just figured that anything I see can be disproven unless it’s proven

The Sun is coming back

He’s always somehow knocking on my window at sunrise once the solstice hits even rising on the other side of the house

It’s only to imaginary confidants I can speak what my mind sees as truth

I’ve lain awake at night agonising over all the lies I’ve spoken to maintain a truth others want to hear

Truth is funny like that

When it’s what they expect they take it and never think twice

But my life of crazy fucking shit

It’s not fair that words I want to hear are spoken by others for others

But that’s how life works

So we live in their truth

I mean

People already hate me

In general

What could it hurt to live my truth now?

Besides more looks of disbelief and distrust

I wish looks didn’t hurt me

Why am I so terribly thin skinned?

I don’t know what being honest would do

I suppose I could conduct an experiment and find out