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I lie. I don't know why. I create stories about myself, create a character with a past that matches the pain I feel inside. I don't know why I often feel as if my heart is breaking or why I want to cry and scream and tear my hair out. So, I give myself a reason, I tell myself over and over again until I believe it, until I find myself living the lie. I tell people who I feel the need to be close to that I have lost a loved one, someone invented, and I truly believe it, I have dreams and memories of them coming unbidden to me, I feel the pain as if they really had lived and died. If I remind myself this is all my own invention I almost don't hear it, somehow that voice, my real voice, is far away and faint. I always start a new friendship or acquaintance with the intention of staying truthful but somehow I always let myself fall back into this pattern. I feel terrible for it because the people I lie to the most are those I want to keep closest. The girl who I'm in love with who doesn't love me back but wants to maintain our friendship, she doesn't know me at all. She knows the invented me the girl with a dead fiancee and a missing best friend. Why, why do I do this? I really like this girl and treasure her friendship and whenever I hear that faint voice I feel terrible but then a much louder voice convinces me that I'm not lying, it must all be true otherwise I wouldn't be mourning the death of my lover, or worrying myself sick over my friend. I genuinely feel these feelings, I can't eat because I feel sick with worry, I want to drink myself into oblivion because I miss the touch of my imaginary dead lover. I know I'm a monster but I can't seem to stop being one and I don't know why. Sometimes I think it's because I'm seeking comfort from those closest to me but feel I don't have a good enough reason for asking for it, how can I ask for them to understand me holding a knife to the palm of my hand if I have no discernible reason for it? I find myself weaving these horrible webs of deceit and then having to leave behind those I treasure trapped in them for fear of them discovering the reality. Better to run than to watch them hate me. There must be something wrong with me? Or is that just another lie I tell myself to make myself feel better, another reason to justify my disgusting actions? I want to be truthful but when I am, when I'm starting again with a clean slate I almost feel less truthful, when I'm 100% myself I'm not myself. Only with my mother am I almost truthful but even then I lie about the lies and there are old lies I maintain because I can't face the idea of breaking her trust of showing her the monster behind the mask. Why do I like crafting and collecting these masks to wear? I don't deserve help but I know I need it.
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