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.
