First, a disclaimer: the topic in this post was in no way influenced by actual facts of my life. The situations encountered herein are entirely hypothetical. They’re fake, people. Made up. Fiction. You believe me, right?
Remember the disclaimer. Remember… remember…
I was walking around the other day looking like I had my insides removed by a shop vac. You know, a combination of mopey and nauseated. A friend found me in that state and asked me the obvious question, “Is there a reason you’re not wearing any pants?” I replied that, in fact, there wasn’t. I might have said something about it being my right as an American. He then asked me the other obvious question, “How are you doing?”
I said, “I’m fine.” Which, as you may have guessed, was an outright lie. I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t even close to fine. I was, at that exact moment, trying to decide whether I wanted to throw up or start breaking things.
I lied to my friend because I didn’t want to tell him that I wasn’t fine. Because you can’t just say, “Nope. Not feeling fine at all. In fact, I feel like I’ve had my insides removed by a shop vac. How about you?” Well, you can say it, but then you’ll have to explain why you don’t feel fine. Then they’ll try to make you feel better or solve the problem or “listen”.
I have, in my relatively few years upon this earth, discovered something: talking does not always solve problems. Talking to a man with a bullet hole in his chest won’t stop the bleeding. In the same vein, talking about why I wasn’t fine wouldn’t have made me feel any better because the root cause of my shop-vac’ed state of being was still there. Sometimes, a guy just needs to hurt until it heals. That’s life.
Is that kind of lie wrong? I don’t know. It seems like, if it is, then you’ll be stuck telling your friends about every hurt you’ll ever have. How often do you get asked, “How are you?” in a day? How much time each day would you spend reciting your aches and pains (emotional as well as physical) if you had to take that question at face value and give a full answer? I don’t know about you, but I don’t have that kind of time.
What benefit is there in honestly answering that question? If I know, prior to answering, that you can’t make whatever is wrong any better, can’t ease my burden at all, what possible good would come from filling your head with my problems and my pain?
Here it is, my grand conclusion: If you see me walking around looking like I had my internal organs stuck in a blender, you can ask me how I’m doing. You may even get an honest answer. Just don’t expect it.
Oh, and for those of you who know me in person rather than just another “voice” on the internet, don’t ask why I wasn’t feeling well. Remember, I’m still pretending this whole thing is hypothetical… I mean, this whole thing really is hypothetical… er…
Hey! Look, over there! The Goodyear Blimp!
Remember the disclaimer. Remember… remember…
I was walking around the other day looking like I had my insides removed by a shop vac. You know, a combination of mopey and nauseated. A friend found me in that state and asked me the obvious question, “Is there a reason you’re not wearing any pants?” I replied that, in fact, there wasn’t. I might have said something about it being my right as an American. He then asked me the other obvious question, “How are you doing?”
I said, “I’m fine.” Which, as you may have guessed, was an outright lie. I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t even close to fine. I was, at that exact moment, trying to decide whether I wanted to throw up or start breaking things.
I lied to my friend because I didn’t want to tell him that I wasn’t fine. Because you can’t just say, “Nope. Not feeling fine at all. In fact, I feel like I’ve had my insides removed by a shop vac. How about you?” Well, you can say it, but then you’ll have to explain why you don’t feel fine. Then they’ll try to make you feel better or solve the problem or “listen”.
I have, in my relatively few years upon this earth, discovered something: talking does not always solve problems. Talking to a man with a bullet hole in his chest won’t stop the bleeding. In the same vein, talking about why I wasn’t fine wouldn’t have made me feel any better because the root cause of my shop-vac’ed state of being was still there. Sometimes, a guy just needs to hurt until it heals. That’s life.
Is that kind of lie wrong? I don’t know. It seems like, if it is, then you’ll be stuck telling your friends about every hurt you’ll ever have. How often do you get asked, “How are you?” in a day? How much time each day would you spend reciting your aches and pains (emotional as well as physical) if you had to take that question at face value and give a full answer? I don’t know about you, but I don’t have that kind of time.
What benefit is there in honestly answering that question? If I know, prior to answering, that you can’t make whatever is wrong any better, can’t ease my burden at all, what possible good would come from filling your head with my problems and my pain?
Here it is, my grand conclusion: If you see me walking around looking like I had my internal organs stuck in a blender, you can ask me how I’m doing. You may even get an honest answer. Just don’t expect it.
Oh, and for those of you who know me in person rather than just another “voice” on the internet, don’t ask why I wasn’t feeling well. Remember, I’m still pretending this whole thing is hypothetical… I mean, this whole thing really is hypothetical… er…
Hey! Look, over there! The Goodyear Blimp!
Comments
I don't call this lying, just answering on the same superficial level the question was asked.
BV