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EMay: When I got sober in 2011, people would always say, “It gets better.” I trusted them. They were right, I stand by that truth. But years later, during a particularly difficult stretch, I was supporting a girl who was trying – but failing – to quit.
She walks in place, she walks alone She takes up space, bends her bone I tell her a line she already knows I've been telling her I've been telling her lies
I would say to her — “It gets better.” And I knew it was true, but it felt like a lie. She would say, “I want to quit,” and she was lying to me, wishing it were more true. She told me that her relationship with alcohol was her favorite love affair, and I was saying “it’s hurting you. Life is better without alcohol,” but the escapades always sounded fun, and much more enticing than I could afford to let on.
Been an anthem, sweet as night Hard as a boxer caught in the fight She tempts my needs, shines the light on
I kept my sobriety then, but often think of how fine the line is between what we think we want and what we actually choose — the truth we think we’re telling about the lie we want to live.
She tells a lie, soft as snow She tells me a lie because it's the truth of the life we know
I’m happy to say that, at the time of this writing, she has three years sober.
She's been telling me lies...
e. may, 9/2020