It’s amazing how easy it is to lie, including convincing most of my friends that I’m a horrible liar. I suppose it's my emotional distance that allows me to easily lie to all except the closest of friends. I’m an expert at lying to myself. I dislike ice cream, French fries, all chips except tortilla, and most processed sweets because I convinced myself I did as a teenager. I used to like them all. I became very good at lying to myself. It made it easier, convince myself I had a good summer. Convince myself that my life was normal and everything was okay. That there was no abuse or neglect. I think part of the reason my past is so blurry, is because I’ve stitched in so many lies. A messy patchwork quilt where truth and fiction have become muddled. I don’t lie to promote myself, or to be right like I suppose some do. I lie to bury harsh realities and to deal with my anxieties. Recently I’ve started telling the truth, to both myself and others. It’s been hard. I’ve been migraining at an increasingly frequent rate. I’ve made my parents’ eyes brim with tears they wouldn’t let fall in front of me. I’ve been laid bare. Not completely honest mind you, but more. It’s as refreshing as it is terrifying and difficult. But I think it’ll be worth it. I certainly cannot keep living a life married to lies just to allow myself to breathe. I guess I wonder. Is this ease in which I lie common to PTSD or is it because I had to lie to my abuser so often to keep her pacified? Is it specific to my abuse, or something many experience? And if it's felt by many, does it get easier?