“Time always shows the truth.”
“You Lied to Me.”
Fiction. Based on a True Deception.
By Leanna Glenn Markham
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.
You lied to me. How did you get away with it for so long? I let you. Still, you lied.
You lied to me, Lungs. You implied that if I inhaled clean air and you infused me with life-giving strength, then all I needed to ensure life was you, moving in and out. Forever.
You lied to me, Legs that continue to grow strong. You told me you could take me anywhere, everywhere. That if I hopped on my bike or ran every morning that eternal youth and vigor would carry me forever. You are still good and strong. You didn’t mention one little bike crash could mash up my knees. That healing takes time, and nothing is ever the same afterwards.
You lied to me, Mountains. So glorious, lifting and strong, who in their height create their own weather systems. You indeed impress and inspire. But you made me think you were mightier than anything. Yet your forests crumple with lightning’s fierce jabs. Your crags tumble when the earth shakes or when fire spouts from its depths.
You lied to me, World full of promises. You said that learning and understanding will always overcome. That tomorrow lies before me like a sunrise.
Even the sunrise wields its own deceptive power. “Sure as sunrise,” is the saying. A few days ago, the sun shone blood red over my town. Now I wonder whether sunrise is falling out of fashion.
You have all revealed the true nature of yourselves. Temporal.
A voice still and gentle says, “You’re beginning to understand.”
“Am I? Am I to live as a cynic?”
I detect a hint of laughter as the answer comes. “You’re to live as one who sees beyond the here and now. Sees as I see. Bodies grow from tender and helpless into strength and then fade away. Mountains rise and fall. And yes, great nations and governments, even brilliant ideas, have their days, and those days sweep into the past.”
“Is nothing forever then? Nothing reliable, worthy of trust?”
“I am forever and so are you. The people you see around you are too. But those arms, legs, and faces you recognize, they fade and go away. I give them better ones. You’ll have better ones too.”
“So it has been you all along.”
“All along. Trust me.”