by lackofsolidity on October 25, 2010

The first significant lie I remember telling, perhaps because this is where I think my semi-habit of lying began, was when I was very young and crying in the corner of my closet. My father came in and crouched down near me. He asked me why I was crying. I said that I didn’t know, because at the time, as with many times after, I honestly didn’t. He became frustrated and said I had to know. So I made something up: that I was upset that he could dunk his doughnuts in his coffee and I couldn’t. This made him laugh, which was a positive response to such an outlandish lie, seeing as I didn’t even like coffee. After that, and similar instances to that, it became almost second nature to explain away my extreme mood swings with a lie.

I remember in middle school, we went on a mission to trip to build houses in Mexico. I became really sad and had another crying fit. When asked what was wrong, I said that a relative of mine had been kidnapped and that I thought I had seen him. They just stared at me.

I’m embarrassed to look back at my behavior. And still, today, I find myself lying to cover up little things that I don’t want to think about because I know it might trigger further depression or anxiety. These lies, or often omissions of the truth, come almost instantaneously, without premeditation. It’s a defense mechanism, and it works well. Unfortunately, it keeps people away from me since they often notice my inconsistencies and then feel they can’t trust me. It’s a bipolar-based flaw that I’m struggling with and working to overcome.