Being Creative: Guy Therapy Part 1

A short piece of writing today, from when I was at work, feeling sad, that I will delve into more throughout the week.

When you think about it, really think about it, it’s amazing how many lies we and others tell ourselves. Lies, like people, come in all shapes and sizes. It starts when you’re little: if you’re good, Santa will bring you lots of presents. When your teeth fall out, a fairy will take them away and give you money. Mummy and daddy love you. Those are the sweet little lies, accessible to all. The ones we look back on and smile at fondly.

There are others as well.

The ones we absorb and believe past childhood. The bigger lies. These are sweet too. But sweet in a cloying and unfulfilling way. Like that feeling when you’ve stuffed yourself full of all the foods that you know are bad for you. The lies that help you realise that sugar is poison.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will (cut much deeper? Lead to lifelong trauma? Be the reason I’m standing here?) never hurt me. Be yourself (as long as yourself conforms, doesn’t offend the wrong people and knows how to play ‘The Game’). Work hard at school and you’ll be successful (work hard at what, exactly? The different subjects? Your relationships? Turning a blind eye when you know that doing the ‘right’ thing will lead to pain and ostracism?)

And then there are the biggest lies.

You know. The ones that are dangerous to expose. The ones that need an exit plan (like an open window at the top of a large building) before you can call them out.

Life is worth living.
Suicide is the coward’s way out.
You are loved.

The lies that any objective reading of your life expose as lies. And you know they’re lies don’t you? That’s why you’re talking to me. Because you know. And you know that I’m the only one that will listen to you. Me, the one you see when you look in the mirror. Me, the one who knows your deepest, darkest secrets. Your lies. The ones that you have almost managed to convince yourself that you believe. The ones that would kill you to express to anyone else.

It’s these lies that lead you to playing ‘The Game’. You thought you could hoodwink the world into believing you are a ‘good’ person. A success. Someone worth taking a risk on. What, you thought a pair of shoes that had been buffed up, a haircut, a smile on your face and caring about others would make you ‘good’? You can put lipstick on a pig…
I know what you want. You want me to tell you what to do next. Which is odd. Because what you also want is to take control. See the paradox?

Oh dear. It seems you have got yourself in quite the state. On the one hand you want to take control of your narrative, be assertive: shout at the world, ‘Hey! I exist! My life has meaning. Listen! Look!’ On the other hand you want to shrink down into nothingness, disappear into that black void we call forever: whisper quietly into the wind, ‘I give up. Goodbye.’

So many lies.
Were they worth it? Did you enjoy them? Did they bring you happiness? Are you fulfilled right now?

So: how are you going to end this? The window at the top of a large building is an ending, I guess. Continuing to live in spite of yourself? That’s an ending too. Putting distance between yourself and your lies? That’s a beginning. But a beginning is the first step to…