Lying

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9e/C%C3%A9zanne%2C_L%E2%80%99Automne.jpgAs I practise, I grow more adept at lying.

I have not been going to the office. H will think badly of me for this, or worry about me, or tell me how she would behave, or what is in my interests. I don’t think badly of myself for this. I could argue, and put my case, and hear her worries. I fear that she will not come round to my view. Instead, I first said that I had been that day, then later that it had been boring with nothing worth talking about, and then made up a generic story about the kind of problem I see there and say that it happened.

Or, I would phone my father if I had anything to relate to him which I was proud of, and which I thought he would see the reason for pride. I would like contact occasionally, but do not want to go naked into it.

Perhaps I could trust them. They wish me well. I do not want to disappoint, or I do not want to hear disappointment in their voices, or something. Disappointment is all very well, but expressing it while speaking to me is a judgment, which I do not want to hear. Go judge someone else.

Eventually, I might tell that generic story in the same way as if it had really happened. Though telling genuine stories, I would be thinking it through, for my own benefit, and bouncing my thoughts and feelings off my friend. Telling a made up story feels sterile, but finding one to do that with might make it completely credible.

I do not know if I am doubted. One tends to believe what others say. I would rather be able to say what I felt, and be heard and accepted. I do not feel that I am, though I do not know how clear that is a perception of others. What is the judgment, exactly?

“One just has to keep building higher and higher fences,
to show one can jump them.”

I rather like that attitude. I can see the attraction. I have just been so frightened for so long that it is not mine, and I cannot see what challenge I might enjoy or keep to. I want things to be quiet. I do not want challenge.

A trans woman I met said that she had a rare genetic condition whereby she had two X  chromosomes, but an “SRY inclusion factor” on one made her develop male sex characteristics. She also told me that at school she had blown up the bike sheds with home-made explosives, and that she had acquired written evidence of having been sacked because of her transition which netted her a large settlement. A woman I met at university, unable to get her degree, told me that she was doing an Open University history degree, and had been told “she was likely to get a First”. A man who I met during a summer job as a pool attendant told me that he had been in the SAS, and that his former girlfriend tried to inveigle professional secrets from him, as she was in the National Front. In each case, it was the accumulation of stories which made me doubt them, and after I noted their unlikelihood. The tip might be, make your lies credible.