The Dealer’s Lies

Metaphorical Narrative

Picture a smoky backroom lit by a single hanging bulb. A dealer sits at the table, shuffling cards that are blank on both sides. He leans in close, eyes glittering, and whispers whatever you want to hear:

“You’ll get what you need. Just one more round."
"You were meant to lose anyway."
"I’m the one who decides if you deserve it.”

The words slide smooth, like promises wrapped in velvet, but every hand you play ends the same. The house always wins — not because the cards are real, but because the game was never honest. Truth doesn’t matter here. Fairness doesn’t matter. The dealer only needs you sitting at the table.

And then it hits you. You don’t have to play. The needs he dangles are yours already. You push back the chair, stand, and watch the table dissolve into dust. The dealer’s smile collapses with it. Without you, the game ends.

Core Insight

The twisted tongue wears another mask: the dealer. Its strategy is not truth, but dependence. It feeds you lines to keep you seated — guilty, waiting, bargaining. But your needs are not bargaining chips. They don’t belong to a dealer.

Once you see the lie, you realise you were never a player in his casino. You were always free to walk out with your needs intact.

Saturday Experiment

1. Spot the Dealer — Notice when a voice says just enough to keep you hooked, but never delivers.
2. Name the Lie — Say to yourself: “This is a dealer, not truth.”
3. End the Game — Visualise the table turning to dust. Step out of the room with your needs unshaken.

Sunday Reflection

• When he notices words that sound like promises but circle back to nothing, how does he now unmask the dealer?
• How does he hold his needs as valid without bargaining them away?
• How does he remind himself that he never has to sit at that table again?