“I don’t care.”

It’s an expression of apathy, a defense against responsibility, against hurt, against the unknown. We learn it as children, as a layer of armor against something we don’t want to do or say or deal with. “You’ll lose your playing time.” “I don’t care.”

“I don’t care” is a lie. We say it to convince others when the person we are trying to convince is ourselves. It’s a lie, words that need not be said if they are true. I say it because it isn’t true. I say it because I do care. I say it because my heart is breaking. I say it because I don’t want to cry. I say it because I’m angry. I say it because I am trying to be brave. I say it because I think I’m supposed to.  I say it because I don’t know how to feel. I say it because I’m helpless to do anything else but say it.

But it’s a lie. I do care. Madame Vastra’s statement is probably apropos here: “Truth is singular, lies are words, words, words.”