The stories and fables I would tell. Oh, they created a whole new world. It would probably have been fine and wonderful if it didn't fill me with terror at being found out at every turn. I also had a pretty terrible memory of remembering facts, so what I had said one day might have changed completely the next. It's odd that no-one ever called me up on it.
I'm still not entirely sure why I lied quite as much as I did. Part of it might have been the thrill in the fear. Part of it might have been a desperate need to be liked and a self-conviction that no-one would like me without the lies.
These days, I don't lie often at all. The very occasions I do lie, I feel guilt over it for quite a while. There is no thrill in the fear. I'm there for all to see. No veil nor mask. This is who I am, if you don't like it then you can get stuffed. Or we can agree to not be friends and that's okay because not everyone will like everyone.
I don't know if my lies ever hurt anyone, or if they were harmless in and of themselves. I do know, however, that my history of lying makes me a particularly untrusting person.
