I certainly have difficulty with the truth, being that it’s subjective. The truth, to me, is the truth that suits me. The truth I already believe. When I ask a friend to tell me the truth and they tell me the truth, I am appalled. Yes, I want to hear the truth, but I want you to tell me the truth that I expect to hear from a friend, a nice person, a generous, kind, tender person who doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. And yet, when I offer my truth to everyone around me, whether they ask for it, or not, they are appalled.
Gee, I’m only trying to help. I must feel that the way I see things is the way they are, and if the way I see things is not acceptable to you, it’s because you can’t face the truth. If I am appalled when you tell me your truth, it’s because your truth is groundless.
I recently offered unsolicited advice to an old friend about his novel and I don’t think it went over too well, because after a bit of bantering, he dropped off the map. I feel that I did him a favor, although, now that the novel is published, it’s really too late isn’t it? I was playing the martyr. The “friend” who is a “real friend” because I have the courage to tell him the truth and his other friends, a bunch of sissy syncophants, are trying to make him feel good.
The truth is, I didn’t really read the novel. I looked through it quickly. I read a few sentences in a couple of chapters. I was offering a friend advice on his novel that I didn’t read. Why? I was in bed with depression and was trying to kill time. I mentioned to my writer friend that I was in bed alot. He asked Why? I said, I am Bi-polar. I never heard another word.