It’s a line written by Aaron Sorkin for the character of the best friend and chief of staff to the eventual president — who, incidentally, has MS — on The West Wing, a political drama TV series that ran from 1999 to 2006. Caryn and I binge-watched the entire series in the waning months of the previous American administration. The line stuck with me in recent weeks, and I realized that I’d gone beyond “fake it till you make it” and have been living in a world of stories, fairy tales, and outright lies to myself for a good while now.
I’m Good at Averting My Eyes From Difficult Realities
It’s difficult not to be hard on yourself when you come to this epiphany, but I came to the parallel truth that most of us tell ourselves the fables we need to get by. I’m not the only one, and I’m not even close to sure it’s a bad thing. I began walking it back from the edge when I stopped saying “We all tell ourselves the lies we need to hear.” These felt like lies on the kinder end of the spectrum of falsehoods; the “It’ll be grand” end. If they were lies, I was telling myself, they were of the paler variety, and they felt more parabolic than outright fibs. Those who have read the Life With Multiple Sclerosis column for a while know that I look at multiple sclerosis (MS) as a life sentence rather than a death sentence. That means that I have decided to get on (and keep on) with the living part. In order to get on with the getting on, I seem to have developed a particular proclivity for averting my eyes from the difficult realities and skirting painful ones. It’s the MS version of telling myself that the old dog went to live on a farm where he’s able to run free with his friends. The difference between fairy tale and outright lie could be compared with the difference between “need to know” and “ought to know.” RELATED: Hearing the Truth About My MS Hurts
Most of the Time, Looking Away Does No Harm
The tales we tell ourselves help soften the edges of our MS reality. “Maybe tomorrow” and “It won’t last” are the “Once upon a time” introductions to many of these MS stories I tell myself. In them, the dragon is slayed, the protagonist rescued, and all is set right in the world. In their telling, I am able to put aside fears and overcome obstacles, and “new normal” is just as good as the old normal. Most of the fantasies I inflict on myself are of a tooth-fairy level of diversion. They are little distractions that do no real harm; they help me through a bit of trauma. They’re something I hope to grow past in my own good time. Those are the benign stories I forgive myself for telling.
But Outright Delusion Is Dangerous Territory
The sinister tales are those I use not to divert, but to deceive and delude myself. Those are the dangerous lies that shade well to the darker side of the spectrum. So for the sake of sanity, I’ll still tell myself stories to get me through the rough patches. I will not, however — all right, I’ll try not to — let the fantasies slip into the land of lies, for theirs is a web from which I mayn’t ever escape. Wishing you and your family the best of health. Cheers, Trevis
