Lying Robbed My Joy (Pt 1)
Lying intentionally deceives for self-gain. This deliberate untruth may be presented to others but we usually lie to ourselves. At some point, we all perform many acts and say certain things that we wish we had never done or said which unfortunately results in remorse and feelings of regret. I conceal these wrongs by convincing myself of one thing when it is truly the complete opposite. I do this to be content with myself and to escape my faults and feelings of guilt. Lying to ourselves about who we are (the things we do, say, and think) is something that we all are culpable of committing in our lives. I feel like at points of my life, I suffered from no longer being able to form new memories from the result of living my life like a schedule and race against time. I hold onto the deluding facts: I rewind old memories, fast forward my present so I can get to the future.
I refused to see the truth in my own life. I was digging a hole and burying myself in it under appointments, assignments, family drama and deep loneliness to deal with the remorse and punish myself for the repercussions of my own mistakes. I wanted to conceal my own faults to meet my own satisfaction with myself: I didn’t want to be forever scrutinized by my grades, my parents and my friends. I would lie to myself to avoid the negative factors that I became associated with. I was unable to live by accepting my mistakes and forgiving myself and those who perpetuated this demanding life on me.
When I look at my reflection in the mirror this is the only thing that I see. Sunken eyes from tossing and turning flash before me as I wrack my brain and sort through my lists and obligations. I was unable to see other dimensions of myself and had reduced my life to this single fact that I had to be purposeful. I had to be useful. I confused elements of my life as I recreated different identities and stories each time to continually cover up my wrongs. I felt so far gone. I felt forgotten. So I wanted to be remembered. I wanted to be someone. The version of the truth always sounded better than the whole truth. My version of the truth was this: I was motivated, hardworking and trying to pick up the pieces of my fallen family life. But the full truth was this: I was sleep-deprived, lonely, broken from my parents’ divorce and I was striving for perfection to keep my loved ones happy. I knew mistakes, I knew pain and I knew loss so I did not want to hear about guilt, shame, or remorse. I was ashamed of my brokenness.
I would avoid thoughts and conversations of things that reminded me of who I really was: I would dodge questions about my family history and heritage, anything that exposed me was buried. I was only interested in one dimension of myself: anything to conceal my painful past would do. Through my university career, I saw my fair share of lies. Lies were said to impress professors and ace classes, meet potential romantic interests, and get through the day. It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t the only one lying. I realised that we all lie to ourselves about who we are to achieve (a certain level of) self-satisfaction. We make ourselves believe we are satisfactory students, athletes, and musicians to validate our purpose. This sort of lie is destructive as it does not allow us to fully move on. We impose personal hindrance when we are not able to embrace the truth and live freely. For instance, if we commit an act that we are ashamed of, we find ourselves concealing over this by telling ourselves lies to make us feel better.
To be continued...