long roads that lead to nowhere.

Past, present and future.

I live among liars.

I live among people who rarely tell the truth.

Sometimes in order to hide the truth you are compelled to tell lies, if you want to keep your secrets hidden you must compromise your integrity and even your morals, it seems like it's the only way to maintain some level of secrecy. I was raised by people who hide the truth on a daily basis and most of the time I don't see how that is different from lying. The truth is not spoken either ways. 

I am not a saint, I am a liar too.
And just like them I have my reasons. I know that I sound like a hypocrite for justifying my lies and not justifying theirs but not telling the truth is something I have been doing ever since I was a child. See, that is the only way of communication I know. Long ago, I learned that people only listen to what they want to hear. Don't get me wrong, I am not victimizing myself or blaming it all on my parents for how I turned out, but they did the major contribution on this. After all, we are all messed up in our way. 

My father is a lawyer, and my mother is doctor. My father deals with all sort of criminals and my mother treats sick people. 

I often wounder if his job has rubbed off on him, I mean, after all this time he probably acquired some of these traits from the people he deals with everyday. Not that he is becoming a criminal or anything, he represent the law, but he has acquired the traits of a criminal, sneakiness and aggressiveness. When it comes to my mother she's so wrapped up in her career that I think her work is her way of coping with the world. She has something to pour all her focus on, it's good for her, I think.

We sit everyday at dinner, eat our meal with small talk taking over. My father asks my mother about her day which she can't talk about, and my mother asks my father about his days at work which he can't talk about. They would be breaking client/attorney  privilege or doctor/patient privilege. So half of their day is not spoken of, and thus half of their life isn't spoken of either. I wonder how they managed to stay married for this long.  

When I was younger I used to ask them about their jobs, and then at some point I  stopped because I realized I wasn't going to get anything other than 'busy' or 'good' or 'stressful'.  

And it wasn't only their jobs that they both kept discreet and hidden. It almost applied to everything else. So naturally I became like them. 

 "Honey, you want more food?"

This call of endearment comes out all wrong and phony. I don't remember when she started calling me that. I shake my head while poking my steak. 

"How was your day?" my father asks. 

"it was fine." I lie. 

because if I was going to describe today it was anything but fine. 

"Honey, why don't you invite over your friends for dinner? you may have a sleep over if you want!"
my mother says, after a moment of silence, all chirpy and enthusiastic. 

It would have been a nice idea, except that I am too old for this, and the fact that I don't have any friends.
Which she seems oblivious to. 

"How's Janet? it's been a long time since we saw her." Now it was time for my father to step in, not really curious or interested, he asked out of courtesy. 

"She's okay." another lie I say and I continue to toy with my food in silence. She is probably okay, but I wouldn't know. Janet was my only best friend, but now we no longer speak. Of course I never mentioned that to them. 

"Someone is not in the mood today..." my mother trails off while pouring herself a glass of expensive wine. We all know she is not going to finish her glass. But no one complains. I wounder why my parents bother buying this expensive drink, no one is going to drink it and it's not like we have any guest here. Same thing goes for the big piano in our living room, they both don't have the time to play it, and I wasn't talented enough to learn. Same thing goes for the posh decorated rooms. We never use any of these things. Maybe my parents want something to spend their money on, even if it wasn't crucial for their existence.  

So now you can see what I am talking about, right?

A big empty house. Full of secrets and unspoken words, looming over our heads, walking around like shadows. The atmosphere is always wired with the tension of things we want to say but we don't. Sometimes it's suffocating, I feel like I can't take it anymore, but that's all I have. 

I finish my meal, take my plate to the kitchen, my parents do not object how I left suddenly mid-conversation.  I drag myself up to my room and try to sleep. It's too early but I don't have anything to do today and I don't have anything to look up to tomorrow so it doesn't matter what I do now. 

I lay down and I swear I can tell exactly what's happening down there at the dinner table without seeing it. My mother is probably watching TV and my father is probably working on a case. They do this every night. Sometimes I used to sit with them and watch them go on on their routines. I had never felt more alone then. I had both my parents, alive and healthy and I couldn't open up to neither of them, we couldn't even havens proper conversation.  

My parents are not awful people. We're just strangers who happen to live under the same roof, we don't even know each other that well. They don't see themselves in me and I don't see myself in them. Recently I realized that people throughout their life will want things they can't have, and they'll never stop wanting these things fully knowing they can't have them.  Like travelling all around the world or someone's love, it could be a job you applied to or a scholarship you worked hard for. For me it's my parent's acceptance and approval. 

It's always been like that. That what happens when a child is raised with parents who don't love each other. Perhaps they thought that they were doing me a favor for not getting divorced. But I came out all deformed and damaged.  They gave me all what they had to offer, it just wasn't enough for me to grow properly. 

I try to sleep but it doesn't work. It happens so often, and at nights like this I start contemplating on my life and this world I live in. I don't quite remember when or how I became like this. I don't remember a point in my life where I was happy or content. There were times when I was less sad, less lonely or less angry. Happiness was a matter of seconds or minutes for me. That is my fault. That is my deformity. I don't have it in me to be happy. 

Back when I had a friend it was easier. Of course I kept many parts of myself hidden, but I had some sort of hope. That I wasn't all corrupted. That maybe there are people who needed my presence in their life. But we grew apart. Janet couldn't handle me at the end. She couldn't handle my temper, she couldn't understand how someone who had everything was so sad all the time. And I don't blame her for that. I have a hard time wrapping my head around it too. 

How can I survive if I let everything get to me? How could I live if I was defenseless against the horrors of this world? how can I live if I couldn't forgive people around me? or forgive myself for who I am and the tings I have done to begin with?

I tried to answer these questions, I repeated them in my head over and over again, but my search finally came to an end. 

 Right now I am just trying to forgive myself for what I am about to do. 

Because two days from now, on the night of my birthday, I will be gone.