Thou Shalt Not Lie

I am lying on a blue rubber mattress on the floor and waiting for the endless night to end. I want to pull the thin white sheet over my face to block the ever-glaring light, but I cannot lower my clenched hands from above my head, for that would lead the man who is perpetually hovering in his seat above me to shout: “I need to see your hands” and I am tired of his shouting. The cameras need the light so they can unblinkingly record my every move, or lack thereof, and so that others can watch me on the grid of screens that exist somewhere beyond my reach.

I am bound inside this spotless cubicle, and cannot breathe deeply or shift to another part of the mattress without the man’s head turning and his eyes widening. I don’t like to see those eyes as they stare through me and beyond my naked, sheet covered body, beyond my unwashed hair and uncovered feet. The man lifts his pen, yawns, and scrawls an illegible note onto my psychiatric supervision form that will later be put into my patient file.

With my inert body surrounded by blank walls, I am left with only my thoughts. These thoughts are unexpectedly calm and peaceful, and although each idea winds tenaciously in circles around my mind, I feel free. I think of the absurdity of my feelings of freedom, for I am confined by an endless series of locks and cameras.

Just yesterday I got off a bus and walked into my school to attempt, once again, the daily feat of absorbing endless bits of useless information being tossed at me. Perhaps it was a week ago, or even a month ago. Ever since I entered this white room, time has blurred into an indistinguishable smudge.

I was standing at the back corner of the library among the many swaying bodies. At first I stopped swaying, then I stopped moving my mouth, and then I ceased to deliberately turn each page in my siddur. Yet even as I randomly flipped between unread pages, I stood up, bowed down, and took three steps towards God.

I closed my eyes knowing that an onlooker would see me as devoutly squinting at the sacred text in front of me. Yet lost in a reverie I must have remained standing for too long until I was alone in the room. Forgetting the concluding steps, I fled. I put the siddur back onto the shelf, making sure it was upside down.

When I lugged my massive binder into class, it felt unusually heavy. Not only because I had to place a special order to procure this unreasonably large industrial item, but because I carried this item everywhere, until eventually it gave me a perpetual stoop. The people around me were too busy carrying their own similarly unreasonable industrial items, and so I didn’t need to worry about creating banal banter.

It was fitting that I was shackled to this great monolith that was now filled with endless biblical scribbles. The margins of my notes were covered in questions. I questioned the meaning of life and the truth of the seemingly-illogical information that I was being fed. I also questioned why “t” had to be written with a small tail, lest this letter be mistaken as a cross. I questioned why I needed to acknowledge God in small lettering on the corner of each page, and why I needed to kiss dusty and extremely unhygienic books. I did not desist from this kissing practice, but I made sure to accidentally pile my chemistry notes atop these holy books.

I knew that my small and comical mutinies were inconsequential. I had to continue to lie and pretend to be pious and righteous. I was pulled down and trapped into empty actions and words while my mind revolted. I knew that eventually the thoughts boiling inside me would burst from beneath my fake facade, wreaking havoc in their wake.
Right before I entered this small room I realized that I could no longer live this lie. The divide between my thoughts and actions had grown so great that I felt as if I was being torn apart. Despite my awareness of the incongruity of my being, the line between who I was and who I appeared to be was tenuous, and so my thoughts were muddled. I did not know how to end one life and embrace another, so I tried to kill both of them.

In giving up on life and entering into this small bare room I lost ownership of my body, my movements, and my privacy. Yet with this loss I have allowed my thoughts to erupt. While these thoughts envelop my body and take over my mind, I know that someday in the wake of this tumult I will build a life from this act of death. I have pretended for so long, that without my mask I don’t know who I am. I will have to create my own being, and form a new face from this shapeless slab of clay.  Yet despite my uncertainty of mind and my captive body, I am no longer liable for my profane thoughts or actions, nor do I need to pretend to pray. I no longer have to lie, and I am therefore free.