I hear lies. Every fucking day.

I hate that feeling I can get sometimes. The feeling that all this time I've been lying to myself about how good I look to make myself feel good, so I can get through day to day and not fall off any sort of wagon. What is the truth? Is it that this all doesn't matter because we're going to die one day, or be sick, and hurt, and suffer, and that feeling of loneliness I felt while I was sitting in Bay 1 looking at hideous pictures from the past weekend is totally moot? Am I lying because I know it doesn't matter, or am I lying because it matters so much and the truth hurts? 

I just don't know.