The Truth Hurts

The Idea

My whole life is made up of lies. And I’m being honest. I never want to hear what people really think about me so I always tell them to lie. Whether they do or not I don’t know.

Growing up, my greatest fear was that people wouldn’t like me. I’ve never been good at anything except being bad at hearing the truth. Disappointing people or giving them a reason to think bad of me was the thing I strove most not to do.

Ever since we met in 2nd grade, my then best friend, Camryn, told me everyday what she thought of my outfit. Up until that point it hadn’t bothered me, in fact I looked forward to her opinion. But 5th grade was when her feedback turned into criticism. Instead of the usual “I love that shirt, next time you should pair it with your black jeans,” it was “That shirt would look so much less awful if you’d worn your black jeans.” One time wouldn’t have bothered me, but when it happened everyday, the harsh words, I started to doubt myself. I called Camryn every morning before I left my house and told her what I was wearing, and usually ended up changing everything from my earrings to my socks by the time we were done talking.

Soon though this constant criticism wore down my wall of nonchalance and I couldn’t take it anymore.

And when I was 11, I had The Idea.

Whenever I needed someone’s opinion about how I looked or whether my idea was good, I would tell them to give me the answer I wanted to hear. Even if they disliked the lavender sequins on my jeans they would tell me they looked great. And even when I knew what they really thought, the truth doesn’t hurt as much when it’s indirect. And that’s how it’s been for the past 3 years, never really knowing what people saw in me, only what they didn’t.

The Idea is the reason I only have two friends, Preston and Parker. After I started telling people to lie, the birthday party invitations and hangout plans stopped coming. When I finally confronted people about it, they confessed they were tired of saying the opposite of what they thought. I can’t say I blame them. But Preston and Parker stuck around. Their reasoning was they liked being able to lie to someone and not have them care. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

My parents always ask me if I want to talk to someone, which I know is code for they want to send me to a therapist. But I’m fine with the lies, it’s easier to know nothing then to know everything.

The only exception to that is my parents. They never lie, like ever. That’s why I like school better then home, less truth and more lies, less knowing and more guessing. Everything was imperfect. Until it wasn’t.