You Little Liar

lie
n.
1. A false statement deliberately presented as being true; a falsehood.
2. Something meant to deceive or give a wrong impression.
v. lied, ly·ing, (l ng) lies
v. intr.
1. To present false information with the intention of deceiving.
2. To convey a false image or impression: Appearances often lie.

liar

Li”ar n.
[OE. liere. See Lie to falsify.]

A person who knowingly utters falsehood; one who lies.

I’ve lied about so many things to so many people in my short life…from my sexuality to first sexual experience, my first girlfriend, last boyfriend, grades in school, who spilled the milk, who ate the last cookie, who made a mess and didn’t clean it up, how that dent got into the car, who was drinking, how much I drank, how drunk I was (or wasn’t), and so on. They are, truly, endless. Lies became so easy to tell, because I was lying about everything…and a certain part of me started to believe them. I was convinced that if I told the lies enough, they would become true, and somehow, I just absorbed them into who I was. Thus, I was a lie. I was lying to everyone around me and I was lying to myself and it didn’t take long before I couldn’t even figure out who I was anymore.

I spent my teenage years in a struggle between projecting the personality of a girl who didn’t really exist and repressing of the true person who I wished would disappear. I became everything my friends wanted: a confidante and a comedian, while packing away all the things I was, all the things that I didn’t think anyone wanted me to be: a lesbian, an emotional being, a frustrated and confused kid. I became so lost in a swarm of lies and misconceptions that my passion for life dissipated. I floated about in my false reality; rather unconscious of the damage I was doing to myself. I was only trying to fit in.

I look back at who I used to be and it makes me sad. I know that there are so many people in the world who struggle to fit in, who lose themselves in their lies to feel normal. The struggle to rediscover myself was painful, days and nights sent in self-imposed solitary confinement, tears streaming down my face, feeling like no one could understand me. I felt alone in a world so vast. I know there are people out there who need someone to tell them that it is okay to let your true self shine. The beauty of the human spirit is that we are all different, that we all have personalities that burn. The ugliness lies in the part of society (and maybe in our own minds) that tells us to change and become like everyone else.

I eventually stopped lying to the world and stopped lying to myself. It was difficult, at first, to let go of the years of falsehoods. I had to peel away the layers that had clung to me, that had, in some places, become a part of who I was. I finally exposed the raw and hidden pieces of my individuality, of my beauty, that had not seen the light of day for years. It hurt to let other people see me, to look on as some of them judged me, but then others loved me for what I finally knew was my true self, and I had never felt so alive. I learned that there is great beauty in truth.

If I could go back in life to talk to the twelve-year-old girl who started lying to the world and to herself, I would give her some important information. I can’t go back, but I will be sure to teach these lessons to my own children so they don’t have to pay the prices I did in hiding myself for so long. Maybe someone will come across this and understand; maybe someone will learn these lessons before it’s too hard to make changes. In that great hope I impart a little common sense:

You are beautiful, no matter what anyone might tell you.

It is our differences that make beauty shine through.

Lies, no matter how small, are never worth it.

Strength lays in the truth of who we are; weakness in the lies we tell to cover up our differences.

This one is for all the liars out there. I wish you all the best.