Dear Truth,

A long time ago I decided our existences were intertwined. You saw it too. I know you did because everything I wanted to say or do seemed to start with you. I know you're not everyone's idea of a good time, and you're no life of the party, but, to me, your company was most agreeable.

To me, you were the sure and safe ground I could land on.

But that was in my head. In my head, all the things they say about you were entirely real and solid. 'The truth will set you free,' they've always said. And I always, always believed it.

But that's not how it works, is it?

You're not setting me free in this incarnation of me. You are not telling everyone else to agree with me, accept me. This 'truth sets us free' game is the lot of martyrs. I'm pretty sure I'm not cut out for the kind of freedom they get.

In the early days, I thought those closest to me would be the ones who'd most appreciate you being in my life.

More fool me. People close to you, people who undeniably love you, can't hold those positions for very long if you give them nothing but truth.

It's too great a burden. Like me, Truth, you are full of sharp edges and inconvenient beliefs. And every word cuts. Perhaps the greatest kindness you've shown me is not making the damage a physical thing I can see. I am not battlefield material. If I saw every incision or blow to the head I caused because I called it like I saw it, I would die of second-hand pain.

What people want is a whole lot of little lies, vagueness, kind deceptions. And so I understood I was not to say I didn't like someone's new dress or hair or boyfriend.

I understood it, but I didn't really act on it. I still believed it was better - that somehow, I was better - for saying what I really thought.

I could not have been wronger. People want you affirm their beliefs. They like this hair, so your job is to say you do too. Do not say it makes their face look round. Do not say the librarians' association called and they want their hair back. Just…just…lie. It shouldn't be this hard.

Here's my big question: when you decided to be who you are - bastion of fact - did it not occur to you that those who liked what you were about would need some kind of support?

You know what truth's backup is? More truth. How does that help?

So I've taken up lying. I lie all the time. I lie about how I am, what I know, what I don't know, what I've seen or not seen. I lie so I don't offend. I lie so I don't sever ties with people I care about. I lie to protect others. I lie to protect myself.

And so now what I'm doing is really a sort of self-harm. I'm the one covered in thousands of cuts. I've met people from the other side; people for whom truth is irksome and unfathomable. They are fascinating. I don't know how they got to be the way they are. I'm actually utterly revolted, but I can't look away.

For me, you, Truth, are the beginning. From truth, from fact, from that which simply is - that's