The Liary

Whenever someone learns that I have a blog they say, "oh, you must keep a diary too, huh?"  Do you get that too? Let me see. Writing one's heart's desires confidentially versus broadcasting useless opinions to the world? Same-same?

The truth is, I'm a hopeless diary keeper. I just don't trust myself to be the only reader of my innermost thoughts. When unchecked by others, I lie, I cheat, I steal other people's good stuff. I've done it before. I was given a diary when I was an early teen and it had the date stamped on every page. The pressure. By the time I got the diary it was already mid-Feb so what was I going to do with all those blank date-stamped pages?

I made up a life and pretended that it was mine, that's what. Sadly, this was no outlandishly crazy and wonderful existence. Not for me rides on wild ponies in the desert and cocktails at dawn... no, I was much more inclined to pretend that I had blonde hair, was short and petitie, good at maths and played the guitar. A big Sweet Dreams-style yawn, but no less a lie for its dullness.

My sister called this journal The Liary.

The truth is (and this is the truth, trust me), I did this sort of thing for real when I was in my very early twenties and a drunken night at a bar turned me into a lie-whore who pretended to be a med student at uni because I was embarrassed that I was actually just a waitress at a function centre at the time. I kept up the lie for months. I don't even know why it was so important to me that people thought I was a brainiac rather than just a maniac. I made up a boyfriend who was a model too... so it was obviously important at the time that not only was I a smart one, I was also hot enough to attract a dumb boyfriend.

I kept a journal during those ill-fated months too. It was Liary The Sequel because embarrassingly I even wrote to myself that I was a med-student with hot boyfriend. For shame. I clearly remember the desperation to be different, to be other than myself, that drove me to lie like this. I think most teenagers / young adults have been there. I try always to remember what that self-loathing, despairing feeling was like and consequently I have always been indulgent with both my time for and manners towards angst-ridden teens.

One of my great life lessons towards accepting myself for just being me was when it all went pear-shaped and I had to explain to some of my dearest friends just why I had made this stupid stuff up. At the time I had no explanation (but see above, perceptive reasoning kicked in later). Most importantly, my friends were at a loss to explain it also. They were shocked beyond belief. But not for the reasons I dreaded. It wasn't the fact that I had lied to their faces that shocked them so much, it was that they couldn't believe that I didn't realise that I was good enough without the lies. I was good enough.

Like I said, a huge life lesson and one that has kept me truthful and grounded ever since. I've never lied with quite such bravado again. Just a little white one here and there. To stop the whining or to save face. Ironically.

Phew. Lying is hard to admit to. Have you always been truthful?

Do you think lies like these matter? What's the difference between a 'white' lie and a whopper?

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