Beginnings

I cannot remember at what age I began telling lies. I remember being very young and telling lies to cover my ass when I did something wrong. It was always something stupid too. Did I drink all the Pepsi? No, of course not. In reality, yes, I did.

At that age, I still didn't realize that I would eventually get caught and my lie would be brought to the surface and I would be confronted with it. And naturally, being confronted led to more denial on my part and more frustration and anger on the part of those around me.

I am not sure when my "little white lies" turned into grand lies. I have a couple of early memories of specific lies that may help me understand why this habit continued into adulthood.

My parents were old enough to be my grandparents. I was adopted. For whatever reason, I didn't want other kids to know my parents were so old, so I would tell them my parents were my grandparents. Of course this lie was quickly brought to the surface when the other kids in the neighborhood told everyone my "grandparents" were really my parents. There was teasing, and the usual cruel kid bantering. I remember the fear and anxiety this caused me. But still, I can't understand WHY I lied in the first place.

Another grand lie was that the young man who came by once a week to mow our yard was actually my brother. Even though neighborhood kids knew this wasn't true, I still insisted that he was in fact my brother. He wasn't. My adopted family consisted of girls only; two older sisters who were already married and out of the house by the time I was born.

These sorts of lies always ended with everyone laughing at me and calling me a liar, among other things. If I didn't already feel isolated enough, the lies made it worse. Word quickly got around and while still in elementry school, I had gained a reputation as a liar.

I look back at these two lies in particular because I seek to find a reason to my madness. I wan't comfortable with myself, even though as a child I didn't understand what that meant. I was a heavy child and kids tended to make fun of me for that as well. So my "storytelling" began to get bigger and bigger in an attempt to make somebody, anybody like me. Of course it didn't work, and you would think I would have learned from my lesson, but no, I am still fighting the effects of my lies today!

I ask myself, what was different about me than the other kids? I was adopted. My parents were older. I was heavy. I had an active immagination. I saw what other kids my age had and somehow realized I didn't have the same. What made me feel so different? There are so many questions that I am not sure I will ever find answers.