text: I’m a liar. I’m really good at lying. I never understood why I feel the need to constantly tell stories, but it has become something of habit. I want to say that it is my general insecurity about my weight, and my poor personal choices, but I know that there has to be more to it than that. I’ve let so many people down, and it’s a shame really. I’ve missed out on some serious friendships because of the way I am. I’m a handful, and I know that. I sincerely wish I could just be myself, but I’m ashamed of who I am. I’ve been lying for as long as I can remember. I used to tell kids in middle school that I was actually a ninja, or a wizard, or a vampire-- whatever was trendy at the time. But I wouldn’t just say it once and move on, oh no, I would push it and elaborate into the story until it was like a wild fire blowing through a forest. Thing is, once it got to that point, there was no way for me to stop it, and it would burn out of control until it fizzled out into smoke. Smoke, just like the stories I was sharing. I make myself sick sometimes thinking about the things that I say and why I say them. It’s maddening. I thought that before it was to impress people, and while, sure that is a reason some of the times now I can’t help but think it is more or less just a part of who I am now. I lie about everything. There isn’t a story i’ve shared that I haven’t embellished even a little for no reason. I’m a sucker for the reactions, and the attention, i’ll admit. One of the worst things though, is how my lying has gotten me in trouble, and I don’t seem to learn. I believe this is the reason behind my severe anxiety. I feel guilty all of the time! I am always looking over my shoulder and pretending that everything is okay but deep down I know I am doing something that is not okay. How do I fix this? What can I do to change? It seems like any time I try to improve and do better I fall back like an old dog doing the same tricks. I feel like this is something that, if I don’t get past, will hinder me for the rest of my life. It scares me how much I buy into my own bullshit, and I want nothing more than to be free from this. I have people who love and care about me and don’t even know the real me because of how masqueraded i’ve let myself become in my lies. It’s maddening. I feel like I have become a monster, uncontrollable. Vile, and self-loathing because I have built up such a facade. I lead two lives, and sometimes I wonder which one is really in control. There is so much people don’t know about me, that I don’t know about myself. It’s terrifying. I look in the mirror and I can see it, and I wonder if anyone else can. So many people believe that I am truly a decent person and it’s hard for me to swallow. I don’t feel that way, I feel toxic. I am a venom, venom that sneaks its way into your drink and burns you from the inside out. I will watch you let your guard down for me, and rely on me while I keep myself jaded. I will watch you believe in me, trust me, love me -- all the while filling your heads with myths. I will convince you that you love this false me, knowing full well I can’t deliver what i’ve sold you. Then, when I have gotten you in your most fragile state, I will strike -- like a python and blindside you. Leaving you in shock, confused, and hurt. I will cut and run, and I won’t think twice about it. I know I do this because i’ve done this so many times. Poor Meghan, poor Lorelei, poor Maggie, poor Nicole, Poor Mikayla. I am the worst, and I want more than anything to stop. It has become me, and I have become it. I am a downward spiral. At work, I lie. I lie about everything I do outside of work. After I clock out I punch out and I go home and sit in the dark and I write this, or I watch television, or I sleep. I make up stories about anything.. women, adventures, anything. I want to spice up my life, and in some twisted sociopathic way I believe that this is the only way to do it. It’s grotesque. My best friends, friends I have had for years have no idea who I am, but neither do I. I want to get help, I want to better myself and be honest, but I am uncertain how I can do this anymore. I sometimes honestly believe I might be a sociopath, and it used to scare the shit out of me, but it doesn’t anymore. Now, I feel empty. I don’t feel anything about this assumption, and I believe that is more terrifying than being afraid of it. Am I wired differently? Am I different? How can I change? I don’t know what I am doing writing all this down.. but it seems somewhat therapeutic. My therapist told me to write, and I started to. I’m trying to be honest with him, and it’s only been one visit and I believe I truly was sincere. I could pin-point when I wanted to lie though, and I stopped myself. Maybe I want to be fixed and because of that I put in the effort with him. But if I can do it with him can I do it with anyone else? Time will tell.