Poetry and All Things Alike

What We Talk About When We Talk About Liars

When I was in moods like this, I felt the most comforting thing to do was window shop. Not only did admiring the cute little trinkets through foggy storefronts calm my nerves, but watching the people inside the stores took my mind off of things.

Today was cold and snowy. In mid afternoon, the town was desolate. I found myself fixated on the images of my breath as I trudged numbly through the un-shoveled snow that coated the racked sidewalk. Store front after store front flashed past my peripheral visions, until something caught my eye.

It was nothing exciting, just another store with Christmas decorations gleaming brightly behind the dirty glass. But it was the rusty mirror that had grabbed my attention.

Staring back at me, was myself. I looked fine. Great actually. My dark hair draped down over my shoulders and my scarf covered my rosy cheeks, showing only the patterns of freckles across my nose and my hazel eyes. For the first time in my life, my body looked great. My coat didn't even make me look like a marshmallow, and what an achievement it was to look skinny covered in fabric and down. My thighs didn't even touch. I looked exactly how I wanted to look and it was perfect.

But mirrors are liars.

That's the lesson my best friend taughy me when I was 12, standing before the school bathroom mirror with my shirt lifted up to my chest, my belly hanging over my jeans. My mom called them "love handles."

"It's not that big.. right?" I asked, examining my belly from every possible angle. "No. It's fine." I said. "Healthy."

She looked like she was cringing as she shook her head. "No. Definitely not. You're fat." She said. "Mirrors ALWAYS make you look thinner than you really are. They distort reality."

"Oh."

"Just make yourself sick. That pooch will be gone in no time."

And the taste of vomit became as constant as air.

Doctors are liars. Through and through.

They tell you you're dying, they tell you you're fine.

They tell you they care, they give you dirty looks.

When I turned 14, I became all too familiar with the smell of tongue depressors and rubbing alcohol which was a common smell among every hospital across the God damn country.

The cringes that doctors would give me when they saw hos skinny I was, and how they would roll their eyes when I would say; "I'm bulimic. I'm sorry."

They never asked why, and they never gave me help. Only force fed me nutrients that I would involuntarily throw up minutes later.

I spent every night crying because I had to listen to grown men with MDs talk about how much of an idiot the girl in 313 was.

I was an idiot and a failure- the label I was given by liars.

Miles are liars.

No matter how far you run, there is always more to go.

You crawl the first mile, stumble the second. Jog the thirds, and sprint the forth.

Miles teach you self love, but that is only what they say.

No matter how far I ran, I still just wanted to quit. I still hated myself, and I hated running.

But there were moments when it would rain. Everyone would go inside or take their cars to work. But I would run.

The rain made my clothes heavy, but my body felt stronger. When it rained, people became weak. When it rained, I became invincible.

The rain made me laugh. It made me smile. It made me run into the street in the middle of the night, my arms held high as I cried out the words "Rain harder! Show no mercy on me, wash me away!"

When I stared into the puddles, they were imperfect reflections. Dark and murky and flawed. This was the refection that made me smile. The reflection that was not like staring into a mirror. Like staring into the eyes of my parents.

People didn't like rain. Rain was honest.

But my eyes are liars. Because parents are liars, and they lie the most.

More than mirrors, more than doctors and more than miles.

They tries to protect me, but only put me in danger. Allowing me to enter the world, so naive  and ignorant to honesty. They told me I was beautiful, perfect, healthy and strong. But I am none of that. They told me growing would bring me up but it only brought me down.

They fed me lies, then denied what they said as I laid sick in every hospital bed across the county. Their honesty only showed when they realized that they fucked up, because liars can't take the blame.

I am a liar.

I step away from the mirror. The image staring back at me has become quite horrifying,

I know that I am just like a mirror. Just like a doctor. Just like a mile. Just like my parents.

Because when we talk about lairs, we talk about ourselves.