Confessions of a Liar

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What makes me mad? Fuming to the point where smoke emerges from my ears? Infuriated more than words can describe? I have so many things to choose, from annoying little sisters, nosy parents, gossipy friends, a million rules to follow, to being grounded for half of my existence. The lists could go on and on.

One thing that tends to bring out my inner Hulk is liars. Flat out. NO exceptions. Lying has been a part of all of our lives since the day we were born; from when an old batty nurse told your parents that you were the most beautiful baby in the hospital. Then teachers saying you were their favorite student, and even the big fiasco about who was lying about taking the last cookie from the cookie jar. Then there was always the most important person in our lives until we all reached the age of ten, Santa. After a couple of years we get a little bit older and find out Santa is not real, and your teacher actually thought you were a little snot all along. Perhaps, the mystery is solved that Dad was actually the one sneaking down stairs to get a midnight snack when the last cookie disappeared. Then a day finally comes when you pull out your old baby photos and instead of seeing a picture-perfect toddler, the photos are a confirmation that you were indeed a chubby, boogery little mess that cute could not even be used in the same sentence with.

Then we get to the point in our lives where we go through the tougher lies. Maybe it is that your “friends” have been talking bad about you behind your back, the boy you gave everything to breaks your heart or your parents only pretend to love each other. You could even come to face the fact someday that you lie to yourself. It’s at this time the world becomes real and not the sugar sweet memory you used to know. The web of lies is spun so tight around you that you’re losing circulation in your body, you’re losing all feeling.

Lies especially bug me because I’ve seen what they can do to relationships, and I’ve experienced it. My best friend and I slowly grew apart from many things that were said. Her lies, it seemed, were all a mask. I told her everything about me; for the first time I let someone in. I let her see the real me, and I thought she had done the same. However, as we all know, lies aren’t strong and stable. They are brittle and fragile; one mishap and they all crumble. Well D-day came and I found out who she really was and it wasn’t a friend. Our words still play out perfectly in my mind,
“Hannah if you lied about all these things, how can I trust, that you are all of the sudden telling the truth now?”
“I don’t know, I just- I don’t know. So what does this mean? We aren’t friends or we just need a break?”
“I think- I think we need a good long break.”

The breaks lasted for over three hundred and sixty five days. That is three hundred and sixty five days to move on and three hundred and sixty five days to realize sometimes only part of the truth is worse than a whole lie. So when people ask me why liars make me so angry, I simply say the world is a charade or a big joke because of them. However, the worst lies we tell are the ones we tell ourselves. We live in denial of who we really are so in a way doesn’t that make us all liars?





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