E
Eves
My earliest memories of telling lies are of being creative and imaginative in the form of telling what my parents obviously knew were fictional stories, like getting up early and working with horses and cowboys and shooting bad guys and getting back in bed tired and hungry and waiting for them to wake up for a big breakfast. It earned their favor and made them laugh and I developed an imagination that has served me well in my personal life and in my career.
Then, I went to school and started in telling stories about how my grandfather and father were experts at any subject you wanted to talk about, in an effort to impress teachers and friends with my broad exposure and experiences and desirable lineage. Not a lot, but enough to remember doing it. No remembrances of being called on any of it, I was a very intelligent and gifted student and did know most of the things I said I knew, I just remember using false sources for my knowledge in an effort to make my life seem more interesting than just reading a lot and watching educational television.
Then, I grew up a little and stopped, I think, for many years.
Until My mom died, my father remarried the most self-serving and narcissistic religious zealot I have ever had the misfortune to know personally and I started in lying again just to cover my "normalcy" and avoid being beaten for holding on to my lack of belief in any form of organized religion and my "worldly ways" that included an interest in science and geology and history and reading for pleasure and an understanding of current events outside of what the church was spewing my way. I lied and even got baptised since it meant nothing to me but a respite from her constant reporting my failures to my father who would beat me rather than experience her wrath for not beating me.
So I left home and went in search of people that would accept me into their homes and couch surfed for several years ( I was 14). This was a lot easier with a colorful past to tell stories of, it wouldn't have worked with a truthful past of scholastic achievement and vacations and private schools and a fridge that always had food and milk in it, nor would admitting that I was spanked at 14 by my father because I got caught listening to a radio or reading a non-religious book on the sabbath day. I had to make it up, fast and loose, as I went, and I became very skillful at telling a believable lie and remembering the details of the lies I told.
It became a habit.
At the end of a day, any day, I can look back and remember at least one time where I went the extra mile to make my life seem more normal or just to get a conversation started.
I don't lie to avoid trouble or hide a fault, I don't tell "felony" lies and it doesn't make me less trustworthy or even dishonest when it matters. I just want to make friends or to have something to talk to friends about so rather than talk about how I spent the day in bed depressed over being reminded of a horrific event I have seen or suffered personally, I might have been out walking with my dogs and saw a bull elk or gone fishing and maybe fished four hours without a bite or pulled apart a lawnmower engine just to find a stuck ring that when fixed seems to have stopped the oil consumption and it now starts easier probably because the compression is where it should be.
I think it has become my method to cover the inner turmoil of a life with PTSD.
I live in the real world and know the difference between my embellished past and the real story, and I DO NOT hurt anyone or use my skills to benefit myself in any way other than to have normal interactions with normal people or to tone down my very real high level of intelligence from "know it all" to "heard about it once when I met a guy that knew something about it".
Anyone able to relate?
Then, I went to school and started in telling stories about how my grandfather and father were experts at any subject you wanted to talk about, in an effort to impress teachers and friends with my broad exposure and experiences and desirable lineage. Not a lot, but enough to remember doing it. No remembrances of being called on any of it, I was a very intelligent and gifted student and did know most of the things I said I knew, I just remember using false sources for my knowledge in an effort to make my life seem more interesting than just reading a lot and watching educational television.
Then, I grew up a little and stopped, I think, for many years.
Until My mom died, my father remarried the most self-serving and narcissistic religious zealot I have ever had the misfortune to know personally and I started in lying again just to cover my "normalcy" and avoid being beaten for holding on to my lack of belief in any form of organized religion and my "worldly ways" that included an interest in science and geology and history and reading for pleasure and an understanding of current events outside of what the church was spewing my way. I lied and even got baptised since it meant nothing to me but a respite from her constant reporting my failures to my father who would beat me rather than experience her wrath for not beating me.
So I left home and went in search of people that would accept me into their homes and couch surfed for several years ( I was 14). This was a lot easier with a colorful past to tell stories of, it wouldn't have worked with a truthful past of scholastic achievement and vacations and private schools and a fridge that always had food and milk in it, nor would admitting that I was spanked at 14 by my father because I got caught listening to a radio or reading a non-religious book on the sabbath day. I had to make it up, fast and loose, as I went, and I became very skillful at telling a believable lie and remembering the details of the lies I told.
It became a habit.
At the end of a day, any day, I can look back and remember at least one time where I went the extra mile to make my life seem more normal or just to get a conversation started.
I don't lie to avoid trouble or hide a fault, I don't tell "felony" lies and it doesn't make me less trustworthy or even dishonest when it matters. I just want to make friends or to have something to talk to friends about so rather than talk about how I spent the day in bed depressed over being reminded of a horrific event I have seen or suffered personally, I might have been out walking with my dogs and saw a bull elk or gone fishing and maybe fished four hours without a bite or pulled apart a lawnmower engine just to find a stuck ring that when fixed seems to have stopped the oil consumption and it now starts easier probably because the compression is where it should be.
I think it has become my method to cover the inner turmoil of a life with PTSD.
I live in the real world and know the difference between my embellished past and the real story, and I DO NOT hurt anyone or use my skills to benefit myself in any way other than to have normal interactions with normal people or to tone down my very real high level of intelligence from "know it all" to "heard about it once when I met a guy that knew something about it".
Anyone able to relate?