“If you’re not feeling any better by Friday,” she said, “the issue may be deeper than what it seems to be now: so typical, an asshole-caused semi depression.”
“Oh dear,” replied Jolene, “the issue is already deep as is. Nothing hurts more than a half truth. A half lie hurts, but the truth is still lingering behind it. The reasons for it not being summoned upon may vary, but the possibility of it still being there, behind the darkness of the lie, exists.”
“Au contraire,” Jolene continued, “a half truth is only told to temporarily ease the aching soul. Eventually, it reaches the marrow. It putrefies the veins. And with it, a reminder of it depicts itself with a scar so obvious after – and if – it heals it is almost impossible not to notice. A half truth will always be worse than not knowing at all.”
“Jesus Christ, Jolene, those pills are driving you nuts. Perhaps you should go see a doctor about it, you’re all about nonsense nowadays. Either way, half lie or half truth, they’re both the same. Call it what you want. What he did to you is still unforgivable.”
But how could it be unforgivable if no one still knew the complete truth? Jolene laid down in fetal position as she rocked herself to sleep. The telly was so loud even her dreams were perpetuated by the local news that were on, going on and on about the many terrorist attacks in the Middle East. Even those dream felt more comforting than her current situation with the half truths inside her head.
You see, Jolene only knew half of the things he told her. The other half, was unknown. Most likely, he was the only one that will ever know exactly what went on. And therefore, the unknown was a dark alley where she entered every night, and as she advanced into the conclusions of which turn to take, things got too confusing, hazy and eventually so dark. And that’s where the benzos had already kicked in.
Marie Momentum 