I had my polygraph today and I passed without spiking on a single question. It’s funny, because my husband was so nervous about his and yet, I was completely calm. He kept asking me, probing me to find some sort of adverse reaction and found nothing. I wasn’t afraid, nervous, or rattled… I was kind of excited. I’m not sure why, only that I was. Of all people, I should have been worried, I have things to hide, not from the police, but from everyone–things I haven’t told nor will ever tell another soul. I was thankful that I didn’t have to reveal it. Its damage is long past done, but to mention it… to give it words and sound and voice, well, I didn’t really want to.
Upon learning that I hadn’t spiked on anything, my husband was dubious. Everyone in the lab spiked on something or multiple things. He laughed and said I must not have a guilty conscience. Perhaps I don’t. In my youth, I lied quite blatantly to my family, looked them in the eyes and spoke falsehoods as if no consequence bore down on me. It’s just the way it was, they never knew, never spotted my trickery unless I intended it to be so. I didn’t intentionally lie on the polygraph, all of the things mentioned, I’ve never done. The only things I’ve ever stolen were when I was young, too young for it to be a crime, even. Grabbing things I wanted and being marched back into the store, embarassed and forced to apologize while handing over whatever I’d managed to grab. I mentioned it, as was necessary, and we moved on. Such as it is…
I feel so strange lately. Not depressed, not quite, just down… in some weird, dark place that I can’t quite escape. Light peeks through what I think is a crack beneath the door, but everytime I try to open it, there’s nothing there it open. I’m not sure what’s to blame, really. I just feel… lonely, alone, isolated. Which is impossible, but I feel it. I’ve never been one to suffer this, but I’ve always, always been surrounded by people. My family was always there, an oppressive, hovering force and while I hid away in my room, they remained. Even when I lived with my in-laws, they were there, doing their own things, living their own lives, but there, nonetheless. Now I am gone from all that, truly alone in every sense and when the husband is home, he’s here, but it’s different. Sometimes I get sick of him being my only form of interaction, sometimes I need something different, something else than his usual responses and inclinations.
I’m moody in general and unable to really focus on anything for too long. I’m hoping this goes away, I’m tired of dealing with it, tired of battling it for control. I have been and always will be a little moody, but this is ridiculous. It’s like pushing a boulder uphill and going nowhere.
I just want to enjoy something, anything.
I need my motivation back.
