When plan A doesn’t work out, I guess lying is always a viable option, too…

Soooo a month after I broke up with my boyfriend, I found out I was pregnant.

FUCK.. am I right, or am I right???

However, when I first looked at that blue stick and found out – I had originally and immediately thought it belonged to Colin, a guy I had hooked up with 2 weeks earlier. A guy who also turned out to be friends with my ex, but I swear I swear I swear I didn’t know they knew each other!!!!

ANYWAY.

I tell Colin, he pays for part – then I get the ultrasound and it turns out I’m like way way way further along – like way further as in, completely unable to take the pill at this point and have to have the procedure, far along.

Which meant the only other person it could have been……

Was my ex.

 

I didn’t want to tell him. I couldn’t tell him. I loved him so much, and I really wanted to get back together – but how could I put yet another thing between us? Especially, something like this.

So… I did the only thing I could think to – I asked a friend for a loan. 

I could have told Elias... I should have told Elias.

But.. please understand. you HAVE to understand. what if...
what if he didn't want me to have an abortion? 

sure, he had a right to know - but in the end it is MY decision to make. whether i abort it or not. and if he didn't agree, would he try to stop me? would he even believe me? we were always so fucking careful... 

so WOULD HE even believe me?

Nonetheless, he was finally moving on from me.

I couldn’t hurt him even more than I already had.

Yes, yes I did regret breaking up with him.

Yes, yes I did still love him.

And even now, I still do.

[insert hyperlink]

 

So, when I asked my friend for the loan – Eric (my ex fuck buddy/good friend) actually and surprisingly agreed. He venom-ed me the rest of the money. I mean, I’m going to be paying him back for a long time, sure. but I don’t regret that decision.

It worked out well in a sense… When I broke up with Elias, I only did because my parents wanted me to. But, I knew. I fucking knew if I told Eli this, then he wouldn’t accept my break up – he would talk me back into it.

So, I lied.

I told him I cheated on him.

                                 Which I really really didn’t.

                     I swear.

But for so long, he thought I was fooling around with other guys…

                                  Which I really really wasn’t. 

                     I SWEAR.

But he truly believed I was… so I guess, what did it matter?

Just tell him what he wants to hear, I told myself.

It sounds crazy, but it WAS what he wanted to hear. Every time I denied it (honestly), he trusted me less and less because he thought he KNEW what I had done. He was never going to believe me. So, if I just lied and told him I had – then maybe he would finally get some sort of closure from it.

From me.

 

However; I had to cross all my t’s and dot all my i’s. I love my best friend, but I know that anyone can read her like an open book. If she thought I had cheated, then Elias would believe it because it was from my best friend, too.

The truth is: if i were to act on any infidelity… I would NOT tell Sophia. For this exact reason. She is too good a person… So, I alone would have to bare the truth.

I, alone, would bare the weight of the lie.

I, alone, will have to live with the lie.

So, I told the lie, and now… [hyperlink]

Now, I am living a life based off a whole fucking intricate web of lies, all because I knew my boyfriend would never believe me when I said I didn’t cheat – but if I “admitted” that I had – he would believe it more so even than if I told him I was born with blonde hair and presented him withphotographic proof of such.

No proof or convincing needed for this one lie. All that was needed, were those four little words.

 

I cheated on you.

And then some, to take it further…

You were not the father.

Shacker in Shackles: Part 1

Like any good story, it started out as any other day. By which I mean, it was so mundane, I honestly do not remember what I had been doing earlier that day leading up to the event. I remember finally getting comfortable in my bed and being ready to finally Netflix the rest of the afternoon away, until it was time to get ready for that night’s festivities.

When I heard the knock at the door, it actually crossed my mind to just ignore the person and continue my episode of Grey’s Antomy. I figure it was probably just maintenance doing a routine check of the smoke detectors or something… Boy, was I wrong.

I finally decided to just open it.

I checked through the peephole, and saw  nothing. But I didn’t think anything of it, so I still opened the door; you know, being curious and all.

What I found, was 4 older men I knew immediately were cops, or something of the like at least.

I wished I’d just stayed in bed watching Grey’s Anatomy instead.

They asked to come in. Obviously I said that was fine, bc you can’t really say no to a cop, can you?

They asked me to take them to my room, for more privacy; so, of course, I obliged.

When there, they pulled out some papers and said “we have a search warrant for your apartment” bc they had me on surveillance “dealing drugs”.

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!!!???

Let me make this v clear – I am not a drug dealer. I don’t sell to my friends when they want just a bump of my Coke or one of my adderall for a test. I don’t do that. I don’t share my adderall and I don’t share my Coke, or at least except this one time.

So when they said that, all I could respond w was “…what????”

WHY DIDNT I STAY IN BED AND IGNORE THEM AT THE DOOR???

One of the jerks chuckled. We’ll call him Asshole 2, since Asshole 1 was doing all the talking. I think the other 2 were just there for show to make me more intimidated or something.

The rest was kind of a blur in a way, but I was completely cooperative and gave them everything I had.

I had no choice. I didn’t want to go to jail.

They told me I could be an informant instead, to which I was uneasy about agreeing to, as that meant being a snitch and narcing on my friends, and friends of friends.

While I was offering everything I had, Asshole 2 verbally came at me w “so where’s your scale?”

Me: my what?

Asshole 2: your scale, don’t play dumb.

Me: I don’t have one.

Asshole 2: I’m going to ask you again, where is your scale? We’ll find it if you don’t give it up, and you’ll only make this worse for yourself.

Me: I don’t have one!

A2: Where is it!!?

Me: I don’t have a fucking scale, I am telling you!! Christ.

A2: don’t you raise your voice at me

Me: well what am I supposed to do, I am telling you I don’t have one. Search the fucking apartment – search the kitchen – search the ceiling – search the walls. There’s no fucking scale here bc I am NOT A FUCKING DRUG DEALER.

It all went on for quite a while after that, if I’m perfectly honest w you…

Well, anyway, they took me down to the precinct so I could fill out the paperwork to become an informant. While in the car tho (which was like a tinted out and fierce looking black suv, if I weren’t so pissed off I probably would have appreciated it at the time), they started by going like “so as an informant-“

Me: I know – I have to wear a wire and turn people in. I have make 2 buys from each person before you can make an arrest. I’m aware.

Asshole 1: Jesus, is there like a class teaching all this stuff to everyone?

Me: No, I just watch a lot of cop shows and word gets around (in a sort-of DUH tone)

When we finally got there, the rest of the crew left me w Asshole 1 as I filled out forms. Name, DOB, home address, mailing address (isn’t that the same fucking thing???? I’ve never understood why they ask for them separately. So dumb, this day of age) charges, # of people to turn in (5, kill me now please – more so I don’t get murdered by some pissed off fucker), et al.

I voiced at one point, as Asshole 1 and I were sharing a conversation over what my major and minor in college were – that for obvious reasons I felt uncomfortable w being a snitch. 

To which he responded by telling me “well don’t feel too bad about it, one of your friends snitched on you.” 

HOLD UP.

They said I was caught on surveillance. I assumed that had meant like cameras on the street outside restaurants and whatever. Not that someone had NARCED on me. 

WHAT THE FUCK.

Right away, I knew exactly who it had to of been. I wasn’t a drug dealer. I’m NOT a drug dealer.

But I sold to one friend twice, the only person ever.

And honestly, I felt safe doing it since HE WAS THE ONE I BOUGHT THE COKE FROM.

So, since they are stupid idiots and left me w my phone – I immediately texted the guy I thought was my friend and whom I’d bought/sold to and was like WTF DUDE. 

Well, that didn’t quite go over so well. Emilie (the bastard, back-stabbing, snitching, loser of a friend) called Asshole 2 and told them I texted him.

Next thing I know…

handcuffs are on my wrists.

Asshole 2 is yelling and screaming at me in the car, telling me how stupid I was, and how I should expect to be expelled from school and spend the next 20 years in jail.

Which I yelled back at him telling him to shut the fuck up.

 

Fast forward 2 weeks, I learned my mugshot had been posted in every GroupMe conversation between the bar staff and owners of all establishments Downtown.

Fuck.

My.

Fucking.

Life.

This Lost Dream

---

Innocence and betrayal

Lacking in motivation

How do we speak

The words we feel

When what we see

Is not all that is meant to be.

---

Breaks on your heart

Stomp on your dreams

Stop this pain

Or leave again.

---

Hear my breath

Touch my soul

My eyes, they plead

For a long ago dream.

---

Forgiveness and torment

To be lost and ignored

This scar you drew

On my heart is real.

---

This Liar is on Fire

I am a liar.

I am always lying.

I lie even when I don’t mean to.

I lie so much, I no longer know if what’s coming out of my mouth is the truth, or just another intricate web of dishonesty.

I am not a traditional liar, however. I don’t lie to make myself, or my life more interesting. I don’t lie to be deceitful – well, not exactly anyway.

| Here’s a little secret | Anyone who tries to tell you that people want to be surrounded by others who are their own person and original; they are lying to you. Everyone thinks that that’s what they want in a friend, but it’s not. They’re really actually not interested in your complicated and dramatic past, or self. They don’t want to know about how your parent’s divorce affected you in high school. They don’t want to know about your stint in rehab. They don’t want to know about your friend who committed suicide by suffocating themselves with a plastic bag. They don’t actually care because, they don’t want to know complicated people, with a drama-filled life. They just want cookie cutters of themselves for friends, no more – no less.

So, I lie.

I lie to sound like every other basic white girl at this football-obsessed southern university:

I put on that red lipstick for game days.

I whiten my teeth daily.

I wear the unofficial girls’ uniform here – norts and an oversized tshirt.

I straighten my hair, and occasionally even curl it to perfection.

I post basic photos to Instagram, and use basic captions with basic locations.

I smile and nod.

I laugh at all the right moments, and at all the right jokes.

I tell everyone life is great.

But, it’s just a front.

I’m lying to sound less interesting. Less wild. Less complicated. Less different.

And yet, I’m not lying.

I’m only telling people exactly what they want to hear.