lies.

Lies. I hate them, and yet, I believe I’m the best at telling them. Throughout my life, I’ve lived with so much regret. Lying as always been a natural reflex, as much as I hated it. Very few people know about who I really am, my personality, achievements and history. Why? I’ve lied my way through. Maybe not lied as per say, but withheld information that would’ve made the truth clear.

Sure at first I’ll feel good about lying, that I managed to make someone laugh, prevent someone from further agony or impress someone. But this feeling never lasts. Some lies don’t even have benefits, but yet I do it anyway. As soon as complications arise, I lie even more to cover up my original lie in hopes of the truth never being uncovered. And then when I’m finally caught red handed, I creep into a little hole full of regret, anger and self-pity and pretend nothing else exists.

I lose something every time I lie. A friend, someone’s trust - I lose myself.

Sometimes I look back and think, who am I really? Am I fictitious? Am I someone who only cares for herself? Am I someone that simply pretends to be selfless? Or, am I what people make me out to be?

I hate lying. I hate lying to myself. I hate lying to my friends. But yet, I can’t stop myself from doing so completely. My reasons are not sound, but my gut pushes me on to do the evil deed anyway. And I must always face the consequences.

But for the people I trust, I’d do that.