Pants on Fire

One Hundred and Seventy Three.

That's how many lies I have told this year.

A few months ago I visited a psychologist, just to talk about things. I am one of those people who do not crumble under emotional pressure, I implode instead. Unless I talk about them first. And since my best friend has been gone, I haven't found anyone I can openly talk to.

I made some good progress with the shrink, until we fell in love (it was mutual, I have proof). After that I swallowed my fear of Priests and visited Father Andrew.

Father Andrew is really... fatherly. He says we tell lies to control situations. By creating a story that is not reality, we create something we can control. But the real reason I lie, especially to myself, he says, is because I am trying to avoid pain. Which I probably agree with. Lies hurt relationships, and I have hurt many of my relationships by acting like I cared less than I really did.

For a loving father, he managed to still give me some homework, one of the things I hate most. The assignment was simple: resolve unresolved feelings by talking honestly about them. So on the first day of this year, I sent out my first letter out of the blue. It simply said, "Hello, I miss you". But even that was a lie, I should have said, "Loving you hurts too much, and I plan to never speak to you again if I can help it".

That's how it started.
"How are you doing today?" I'm great! Couldn't be better!
"Does this dress look alright?" Yes, you look perfect.
And when he told me he loved me, I smiled and said I love him too.

So here we are, One Hundred and Seventy Three lies later...

PS there are 12 lies in this post...

PPS maybe that was a lie...