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Lying as a Lifestyle
I lie. All the time and I can’t control. Okay, that’s a lie. I can control it, but the truth is sometimes so much harder to explain. I’m getting better though. I don’t lie as much as I used to or to as many people as I used to. I don’t lie to my boyfriend, about the big stuff, or my best friend, Rory. I don’t lie about really important stuff. But then again, I can’t really differentiate the important from the okay-to-lie-about category.
I used to embrace my imperfection. I mean, it was something I flaunted. Like a medal on my chest, shining bright for the world to see. Then something in me shifted. We changed houses, my parents got divorced, and I hit puberty and had to become a mini mom. All in the course of 3 fast years. Now I am in high school with a boyfriend who would rather cut off his right arm with a chain saw {with NO aesthetic} than to see me upset. And a best friend who is always there for me, no matter what kind of mess I bring her.
I mean, I lie about little things. Like did I eat breakfast? Yes. Knowing good and well that an Eggo waffle made me nauseas so I threw it away. Or did I walk the dog? Yes. Knowing that I only let him out of the laundry room a few minutes before I was asked.
I don’t like lying and I don’t want to do it. I want to tell the truth. I want to say “No. I am NOT fine,” when someone tries to make conversation with me. But lying is easier than explaining why I have a single parent household {there is nothing wrong with that} and why I have to baby sit an 11 year boy and his two friends. Easier than explaining why some nights depression just hits me like a wave and I cry for hours on end for no earthly reason at all. And lying gets me a better response. Better than seeing pity or sympathy in someone’s eyes. Better than inviting someone to give me a hug, pat me on the back and say “It’s gonna be all right. You just gotta hold on a little while longer.” Better than having to say “ I am fine; really. I can handle it.” and see someone shake their heads in a way that means they are pretending to believe me.
I want to tell Rory and my boyfriend that no, this morning I did not brush my teeth or wash my hair, because today I just don’t flipping care. But that would get odd looks and whispers. Lying is now a lifestyle for me. A routine that I go through every morning. I keep journals of what happened each day. Only for the sole purpose of remembering what lie I told to what person. I want to tell the truth. Really I do. But telling the truth would mean letting people in past the surface and alarms go off when that happens. My subconscious sabotages relationships when I tell the truth. So you see, lying isn’t just a way of life for me, but also a way for me to protect others. Not to mention myself.
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This article has 4 comments.
For more specific advice, I have two points to make. First, your best friend Rory is the only person with a name. You never even mention your own name in this story. Think about why Rory is the only one who gets a name. Second, the part where you are talking about how your boyfriend would rather cut off his arm, you do not need the parenthetical phrase (the part that says "with NO anesthetic"). Cutting off one's arm with a chainsaw is already a powerful image, adding the no anesthetic part just seems melodramatic and is distracting from the intent of the sentence. Other than that, I honestly enjoyed this and would really love to see any revisions you decide to make!