The truth about being honest

I sit here thinking about what and how to write, at the same time thinking about how often that intro 'I sit here..' has been used and that thought is making me a bit fidgety. Honesty sucks. How often have I told people the truth?

More frighteningly, how often have I told myself the truth? I don't even want to answer that question honestly.

Is it really liberating to be honest with ourselves or do we manage to scrape by in life only because of the illusions and lies we feed our minds, making up promises for the future, telling ourselves it's not too late, that we're still young enough, lithe enough, not bad enough to warrant change.

This is the part where I figuratively lift up the rug and begin the calming task of sweeping. If there were a mirror infront of me right now, I'd be ashamed to look into it. I'll sort out this mess tomorrow. I'll be honest with myself tomorrow. After I sort out Domestic Affairs and lunch and bags and stuff. Tomorrow, I'll be honest.