(no subject)
I am full of lies. I lie to myself. I lie to other people. I lie to those that I love and care about most in the world. I am a pathological liar. I remember when I was seeing Tear, I wrote this poem called "Pathological." I originally wrote it to describe him. How he was full of lies. How not one piece of him was born of truth and sincerity. However, when I look back on it now, I wonder whether I really wrote that about myself. I lie. I have lied all my life. And, I am not sure why I do it. I tell my family that I am broke. This is not truth at all. I tell people that I have no money and that I am really hard up financially. This is far from the truth. There are many, many, many people that have it a lot harder than me. I lie to Mark constantly. I tell him so many lies that I don't remember all the lies that I have told him. And, lastly, I lie to myself. I tell myself that I am so miserable and unhappy that I start to believe I am miserable and unhappy. I honestly don't think that this is the case. Then again, honesty is what I am lacking here. I don't know where the truth is anymore. I am unsure if it was ever there. I am unsure who I really am. I wonder if there is a honest person inside of me. I tend to be a chameleon with everyone that I know. I change according to the nature of the instances and situations in front of me. I mimic the surroundings and the people in front of me. Who am I? The little bird asked it once I believe...or was it a Hen? Whatever the animal, the little sweet-heart had it right. Who the fuck am I? I am so tightly wound up in all these lies that I am unsure how to unravel myself and who would be there if I were to be unraveled. I guess the underlying question is, can I stop the lying? Do I want to stop the lying? Can I even help it? Or does it just slip out of me like some horrid creature without a tongue?
I am the pathological liar.
Through and through.
What a horrid revelation.