Lie: “I can’t see.”
Truth: “My right eye is a little blurry.”
I told this lie because I didn’t want to go to class. I hate 8 am classes. I’m not sure I want to be in this class, which is kind of bad considering it’s the evaluation class for my major. But I’d been up until 5:30 AM working on art projects, that, admittedly, I procrastinated on, and my eyes hurt like fuck, despite the copious amount of eyedrops I put into them.
And did have a legitimate problem. Something where your eye gets infected because of a respiratory tract infection. (I had bronchitis a few weeks earlier.) So I even had a doctor’s note. But I could see, all three days. It was painful, and I had a migraine, and I was light sensitive, but I could see.
But, I ended up getting an extension on everything, I got out of class twice, and all my work is now complete.
So it’s all good.
Lie: I don’t feel things normally.
Truth: Half true.
There are some emotions I act out, or force myself to feel. Usually happiness and sadness. Which is odd, considering those are the most basic emotions. Anger, fear, those I feel just fine. The thing about happiness and sadness, is that I understand that something happened that should make me feel this way, and it would seem odd to others if I didn’t. So I act the emotion.
I’m not sure why I feel fear and anger so strongly. I can theorize, of course. One would be that I’m a sociopath, so I only understand things that would affect me. Another is that I was afraid for so long, and I only knew one way to defend myself; that is, by lashing out at those around me.
I think the second one might be close. When I’m tipsy, I lash out at those around me, and I’ll react violently to minor offenses, especially if I don’t think I’m going to cause serious harm. But then when I’m truly drunk, I react strongly to my own offenses. I once spilled a drink, and I started crying, apologizing over and over.
But to clarify, it’s not that I don’t ever experience happiness or sadness, it’s just that their short-lived and shallow, and I’m more likely to be found in a state of apathy than anything else.
After all, it’s tiring to have to fake things all the time.
Lie: I’m not a virgin anymore.
Truth: I want you to fuck off and stop asking me questions.
I don’t understand what it a guy’s obsession with a girls sexuality/sexual past. Especially when they profess “no interest.” Well, that’s okay, I don’t particularly want to screw you either, but when have I ever asked how many partners you’ve had? when have I cared, even when you felt it was your duty to inform me that you went “a little wild” in high school.
I feel no sense of accomplishment telling you this. I don’t care if you believe me or not. All I want is for you and your buddy boys to leave me alone. If there’s one thing I despise about modernization, it’s people thinking that all of the sudden certain topics are for general conversation. My sex life is mine. I am not ashamed of it, but neither do I consider it small talk. I never will.
And don’t try to tell me, it’s a guy thing. It’s not a guy thing. It’s an animal thing. You have a need to be the most dominant, the most powerful, the most wanted, and you’re going about it the only way you know how. If you were truly dominant, you would fell no need to strut about.
So please, if you respect me, as you say you do, stop telling me you’re trying to make me comfortable with myself. I am comfortable with myself. I would make out with a girl if I was so inclined. I would make out with a guy. But for now, at the end of the day, I’m going home alone. And that doesn’t bother me at all.
Lie: I signed up for this class so I could learn how to defend myself.
Truth: Defense was the absolute last thing on my mind.
I told this lie because it made sense. Who wants to hear about a girl lacking discipline? About a girl wanting self control? About a girl wanting the ability to beat up someone who pisses her off?
Who wants to know that I see myself as fat, that no matter what another person says, I will see myself as ugly? I want confidence, and to be comfortable in my bady, even if I’m not exactly happy in it.
I joke that “with great power comes great responsibilty,” so if I have the power to actually hurt someone, I’ll be more inclined to control myself. The opposite was true. With whatever “power” I gain, I want to be able to hurt whoever hurt me, so they’ll never think of doing it again.
Lie: “I’m frustrated.”
Truth: I have no idea what I’m doing.
Why did I tell this lie? Because apparently my parents follow my other blog, my face blog, and I wrote some existential crap. But of course, it doesn’t come off like that. I guess when you have ahistory of depression, anything that you write along those lines will sound like a regression. Maybe it is a regression, and I’m simply unwilling to admit it.
But it made me laugh that as he was talking to me, he Said that I always say things, but he’s beginning to wonder if I’m talking it.
I Started smiling and had to hide it until I could find an excuse to laugh. I don’t think I’ve truly been completely myself with anyone since elementary school. Even then, I was lying. To be accepted, somehow. That’s why I’m going to college. Because it’s what people do. Smart people, succesful people, goto college. But that’s not specific to me. That’s society as a whole. I can’t, and I’m not trying to claim discrimination.
It’ll be interesting to see if anyone ever sees my true nature. I’m not even sure if I know it myself.
Lie: “I’ve been there, but I was drunk before I ever got there, so I don’t remember much of it.”
Truth: I haven’t been.
I started to type I was stone cold sober and did not enjoy myself one bit, but I promised I wouldn’t lie. I said this today, to one of my best friends, because I have heard very bad rumors about a place, and didn’t want to confirm or deny them. Not to mention I didn’t think she’d enjoy it, plus I don’t want her to see me go all out.
I love this friend, but she’s a little naive. Even so, I want her to have an image of me/; fun, but smart, smart about having fun, and smart in school. Part of that’s because she’s planning on going to Med school, and to say the least, I’m not. So I guess you can say I feel a little bit intimidated, and I have to be better at other things to make up for it.
I probably am smarter about partying than she is. I do know my way around a club, I know how to get away from unwanted attention, know how to not get roofied, etc. But I don’t have near the experience she thinks I do.
There’s no way she’ll catch me out on her own. The question is, will the guy who’s going with us be able to?
Two lies in one, actually.
Lie v.1: “I’m going to two parties, but they’re both in this area.”
Lie v.2: “I’m going to party hop, I haven’t decided where to end the evening.”
Truth: My hair is purple and behaving, my face is clear, I feel really sexy, it’s New Year’s Eve, and you think I’m going to spend it at my NEIGHBOR’S house?
Okay, so this is pretty typical kid stuff, my parents are overprotective Nazis, I’m 18, Let me have my own life, right? Mundane. But what worse? I’m not actually going to go anywhere. I’d love to spend New Year’s Eve partying it up, but what’ll end up happening? I’ll drive myself around ALL NIGHT LONG. And honestly, that doesn’t bother me. I’d rather be getting drunk, but it doesn’t bother me if I don’t.
So why do I tell this lie? I don’t want to be that random person that has nowhere to go on a holiday. Even if that’s exactly who I am. Even if I’m not actually bothered by that fact, I don’t want people to know. I have an image, and I have to live up to it.
Funny thing is, I think I can blame my sister for this issue. I can’t stand having people think I’m uninteresting. So much of my life has been centered around getting her attention, getting her approval. More on that later.
Will I get caught? I don’t think so. I’ll let you know in a few.
Edit: No, I didn’t get caught.
Lie: “I just forgot to eat is all.”
Truth: I suck at having an eating disorder.
I skip meals for days at a time. I just drink water to fill up the emptiness in my stomach. Then I go eat a shit ton of ice cream and pizza. I hate my body most of the time, but more recently, I’ve gotten better at having an eating disorder. I can tell because the dress I bought looks good on me. I can tell because right now I’m freezing my ass off. I can tell because I got drunk after the equivalent of two shots. Normally it takes me three.
And yet, I’ll probably starve myself more over break. Not all of it will be my unwillingness to eat. Some of it will be that I can’t find anything that looks appetizing. I don’t know how much of which is which, if that makes sense.
So another truth that fits here: I follow thinspo blogs. They inspire me and horrify me at the same time. I don’t want people to be able to see my ribs. I just want to be able to wear a bikini happily. Without also wearing swim trunks to hide a good portion of my body.
I’m pretty sure most of this is just whining. I’m not near as bad as some others out there. I realize that this is a problem, but I don’t care enough to try to change. So I’ll keep going until I can’t anymore, or until I look like I want.
Lie: “We raise butterflies in our attic.”
Truth: You really need me to tell you the truth of that? Wow. I was in first grade when I told that one. Significant because it’s the earliest lie I remember besides telling my parents I cleaned my room. I’ve always lied about that one.
I told this lie because we had just released some butterflies we had been raising in the classroom, and a few came and landed on me instead of flying off. The teacher said they must be attracted to the colors on my shirt, which was probably true. A few weeks later, and I don’t remember what was going on, or what we were doing, but I told a few of my friends that my mom raised butterflies.
They believed me. First graders are idiots, myself included. I got a few seconds of gratification, then everybody forgot about because we went out to recess.
It has to be the stupidest lie I’ve ever told. The fucking stupidest. And I can’t forget it.
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Lie: “I was working in the roses this weekend.”
Truth: Of course I was fucking cutting myself. Since when have I been interested in gardening? I do love roses. But not the ones we have at my house. I like the old fashioned roses. You know, the blood red ones with the perfect spiral. Not the bullshit carnation thing we have in our garden.
So why did I tell this lie? I have no idea. I was cutting myself for attention. Sure, I liked the pain, and I like to bleed, but on my arms, close to my wrist but never close enough or deep enough to do any damage? I wanted someone to notice. I wanted someone to call bullshit on my lies. To care enough to hound me about it. Who noticed? The nurse one day because I went in for a peppermint. And of course she doesn’t know me well enough to catch me in a lie.
And I never did get caught. That, I think, was part of what made my depression worsen enough to become barely noticeable. Not enough for people to notice. Just my dad. Did my brother notice? I don’t know. I’ll ask him one day. My sister didn’t notice. My mom was too wrapped up in her own problems to notice mine. I don’t blame her for that.
It frustrated me, this lie. I hated the fact that I was such a good actor, people didn’t suspect anything. I started to wonder if I could make them ask more. So I added a little suspicion into my acting. Hesitation whenever I answered. Immediately pulling down my sleeves to cover my arms. From the looks I started getting, I could tell the started to suspect something was wrong. But did any of them care enough to confront me?
The answer to that is what pushed me over the edge.
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Lie: “I broke his nose.”
I mentioned this one earlier. This is an easy lie to tell, because I didn’t actually know the guy, and I went to the doctor for my hand, and I got a brace. I actually punched him in the back, not the face. Why did I punch him? Hell if I remember. I was drunk. I don’t even remember what the guy looks like.
How did I pull this off? I said the following: I punched the guy in the face because he called me a cunt. (the one insult I can’t handle, truth) he had a bloody nose, but I didn’t stay to see how bad it was. I was too concerned with my hand. I told people it was a hairline fracture, but actually it was a small tear in a ligament. I told the doctor I gave the guy a bloody nose, and the doctor told me that if I hit him hard enough to hut myself, I probably did some damage to his face as well. The doctor is confident I broke his nose.
Maybe I would have if I’d actually hit him in the face. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that opportunity.
Why did I tell that lie? Easy. Intimidation factor. I want people to know I won’t be messed with, not willingly. And it’s all a front.
Truth: If I was a little prettier, a little stronger, or if I had grown up a little more insecure, I might have become a bully. I’m not for sure about that, because I am naturally happy. As in, I’m happy more often than I’m not. But I think there’s a strong basis for the thought.
Lie: “I’ve broken so many bones, I can’t remember to count them.”
Truth: I have broken 5 bones. My right collarbone twice, my left collarbone once, my upper right arm, and I cracked a bone in my hand.
I broke my left collarbone coming out of the womb. My right collarbone once running into a tree on my bike, and again along with my upper arm falling off a horse. (In my defense, I was bareback, and the horse had a terrible trot.) I tore a ligament in my hand punching a guy in the back. (Not the nose. Lie #2)
I know why I tell this lie. Because I am a dreadfully boring person. I read a lot. I love to be on the computer. There are also a bunch of physical activities I enjoy, but I haven’t participated since middle school, for various reasons. But I am overly concerned with what others think of me. So much, that I’m wondering how this will be received. I’m worried that this tumblr and my other are connected somehow, that my sister will see this, and know me for me. If that happens, I would be devastated, because there are things I’m going to say that I’m not ready for her to know.
This lie never gets found out. And I get to bask in the glory of people thinking I’m daring, I get the attention of people thinking I’m more interested in living life than being safe all the time. Which is true to an extent. But not to the extent that I need them to believe.
I lie. I lie a lot. My parents have told me they can always catch me in a lie. That’s not entirely true. They catch a lot of them. Especially my dad. But the big stuff? No. They never knew until I told them. I’m a much better actress than they think.
It might be a disorder, this habit of mine. I don’t know. Not like I’d ever tell the therapists. I’ve lied to them, too. I’ll tell you my first truth. I’ve been to three. I don’t even remember how many I’ve said I went to. Maybe I was honest about that one. Three is more than most people see in their life. And I went to all of them before I turned 18.
So. Every time I tell a lie, or think of one I used to tell, I’m going to post it. Then I’m going to look at the lie, and explain why I told it. Some of it’s stupid. Like I wanted attention. Some of it, I wanted to see if people cared enough to figure it out on their own. I’ll talk about the results of the lie. Did I achieve what I intended? And I’ll talk about feelings. How I felt about telling the lie, and the results of the lie.
And then I’ll tell you if I ever got caught.
But whatever I might say on this blog, I promise: I’ll never lie to you.
