I like to think that my parents raised me right. Growing up, I was a stubborn sort, a bit of a rebellious wild child who tended to go against the grain. Being bullied will do that to a person. Eventually, I came to understand that Mom and Dad knew best and their authoritative reign over me wasn’t meant as punishment but rather their way of ushering me through silly adolescence, guiding me through the awkward teenage years and unleashing me onto the world as I blossomed into womanhood. Through trial and error (more error on my part than on theirs) they instilled in me a sense of right and wrong, taught me what it meant to respect and value myself and others, and that no matter whatever I did in life, I was to give it my all.

While my journey to adulthood sometimes meant I veered off the path, eventually I was able to find my way back on track (many times not without a struggle) and right my wrongs. Hard lessons were learned from experience and the majority of those mistakes were never again repeated.

Everyone at one time or another stumbles in life. That lack of perfection, that being just left of center, that innate blemish that we all possess — it just means we’re human… and it comes with the territory. We’re fallible. And don’t worry, I’m not just pointing the finger outward; I speak for myself, as well. That finger is pointing right back at me, too.

It’s not often that you hear of someone willingly and in the absence of duress admitting to something like being blatantly untruthful. To being able to look you straight in the eye and, without flinching, tell a bald-faced lie. I mean, seriously, how many people do you know that would come right out and tell you that they’re lying like a Persian rug?

Lately, I’ve become accustomed to lying.

I don’t lie to be devilishly deceitful, shameful or to perpetrate a fraud to which I benefit. I do it because telling the truth would lead me down an exhausting, winding road that I believe people really don’t want to traverse. The boundaries of good social manners become so blurred as to be indistinguishable, and I don’t want to subject people to that. So, I lie.

“Hey there Valerie. How’re you doing today?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

There. That’s it. That’s the lie that I tell day in and day out. “Oh, I’m fine.” I say it because saying anything else would leave you glassy eyed and uncomfortable. I say it because you’re not really prepared to hear about how I tripped over an invisible stumbling block and nearly face-planted on the pavement. I say it because if you’ve never experienced fatigue, nausea, and dizziness every single day for months on end without relief, you just wouldn’t understand. I say it because even though I may look okay on the outside, on the inside I’m burning, splitting, cracking, and tearing apart. I say it because sometimes my brain isn’t functioning properly and that scares the crap out of me. I say it because it’s so much easier than to not say it.

MS is an unforgiving, soul-crushing, energy-snatching disease. Sure, I could get all Pollyanna on you and say life is wonderful and that I really am just fine, but, honestly, I’m not – at least not all of the time. And since I’m being real here, most times I’m not fine. There are days when my body just vibrates with pain. What the hell is that about? Damned if I know. At times, the pins-and-needles feeling that assaults my hands is an annoyance, but when it travels up my arms and down my legs, it’s far worse. Fatigue robs me of my precious energy and all I want to do is stay in bed. Then there’s the ‘drunkenness’ – that weird vertigo state where walking feels dangerous and my eyeballs bob in the ocean of my mind. Oh, did I mention the depression that sinks in?

Alright, I’ll stop.

Now do you get it? This is why I’ve become a world class liar. Catch me on any day of the week and ask me how I’m doing; I’ll likely lie to you, too.

I’m not the only one, either. There are those who’ve been a part of this horrid organization called “Club MS – The Club That No One Wants To Be A Member Of” for years, decades even. I’m in awe of them. They’re battling every day, forging ahead, slaying the dragon and fighting…despite sometimes wanting to give up and give in. You have to admire that tenacity. Even so, they’ll likely say, “I’m fine,” when asked, “How are you doing?” Because it’s easier to say “I’m fine.” And so the story goes.

This, folks, is MS. And this is why I lie.