Lies I Have Told

Everyone lies. I like to believe that most people are honest most of the time. I am. I would lie only in certain situations; to avoid being hurt, to avoid embarrassment, to avoid punishment, to flatter, to gain a confidence, to inflate my accomplishments, to improve my reputation. The list could go on and on.

I don't lie as much as I once did, and I never did lie all that much. The 12-Step program I follow demands rigorous honesty. Now I try to be honest in all my affairs, especially when I find it difficult.

Looking back over my life there were lies I repeated often. Here are some of them.

"I flew in the second seat of a an F-4 Phantom fighter jet." It never happened. I was close to them, walked around them on the deck of an aircraft carrier, spoke with their pilots by radio as they flew missions, but I never flew in one. I always wanted to. I often imagined how it might feel. Imagining an event was almost like remembering it. It was easy to lie about something that seemed almost like a memory. This was a lie meant to enhance my image and reputation. I usually told it just after someone else told their own story that made me feel inadequate.

"I work in television." This lie usually was told to a girl to impress her. I was careful to tell it only when I was travelling out of town. I have made this boast to airline flight attendants, patrons in bars, exotic dancers. The exaggeration was intended to boost my confidence by making me feel more important. But my inferiority complex prevented me from making myself sound TOO improtant. Usually I claimed to be something ordinary like a cameraman or a sound boom operator. Ironically, I did work in television years later, but by then I was married and past that period in my life when it was important to impress girls.

"I'm retired." This was a passive lie. In my later years I have answered "Yes" when asked "Are you retired?" I imagined that the person who asked believed that I looked sufficiently mature, intelligent and prosperous to have attained a life of leisure so, what the hell, I went along with it. I was plagued by feelings of not being good enough. If I thougth you mistakenly believed I was better than I perceived myself to be then I was happy to go along with your perception rather than mine.

"I know what you mean." This lie was seldom verbalized. Instead, it was communicated with a nod, a knowing look or some other gesture indicating that I understood what the speaker meant. I was afraid of looking stupid. I thought I could avoid looking stupid by never admitting "I don't know."

"I am fine, thank you" This was not always a lie but it was the way I always answered the question "How are you?" I might be physically ill, sad to the point of hopeless dispair, supressing a burning rage, filled with cold fear; my answer always was "Fine." Any other answer might reveal that I was not in complete control of my emotions, my life, my world. To admit a lack of control would reveal my weakness and vulnerability. That was to be avoided at all cost.

"Yes" This was only I lie when I really meant "No." If someone invited me to join them in an activity I thought I would not enjoy, I might answer "Yes" because I did not know how to comfortably express my true feeling. I was a people pleaser. It wasn't that I went through life sucking up. Rather, I was just afraid to be honest. An honest answer might disappoint you and then you would be mad at me. I would panic at the thought of making someone angry. If you were angry you might harm me in some way or, equally bad, you might just dismiss me and ignore me.

"No" This was only a lie when I really meant "Yes." I had come to believe that I did not deserve the good things that came my way in life. I constantly sabotaged my own happiness. Saying "No" when I meant "Yes" often caused me to miss out on opportunities. Declining an opportunity was an act of self-sacrifice. Somehow, I had come to view self-sacrifice as a virtue. Feeling virtuous substituted for feeling good. I am not sure why this convoluted logic made sense to me but it did. I am glad I no longer think this way.

Being rigorously honest means not only being truthful in one's expression and deed but also to seek and to accept the truth. The truth was something I often avoided and denied. I was uncomfortable living in reality. It was easier for me to distort reality than to accept and embrace it. My methods of distortion were self-delusion and substance abuse.

I seldom lie now. When I do it is a painful reminder of a time in my life when lying seemed my only defense against fear and pain. I since have learned to live comfortably in reality, accepting the things I cannot change and finding the courage to deal with the things I can.