I have begun to notice something uncomfortable about myself.

I lie to myself almost every day.

Not the large lies that deceive the world. Mine are quieter.

I tell myself I am too busy when something frightens me.
I call it patience when I am afraid to decide.
I call it acceptance when I have simply given up.
I say something does not matter when, somewhere inside, it hurts deeply.

And perhaps the cleverest lie of all is that I know myself.