My life is built on lies.

I’m a liar. And a coward. That comes as a package deal, in case you were not aware. Liars lie due to fear. Fear of how people might react to the truth. Fear that the world might see them as they really are instead of how they choose to project themselves.

Prior to my wife, I only had one serious girlfriend. When the time came for me to end the relationship, due to no longer feeling a connection with her, I instead chose to drag things out.

When at the age of 7 or 8 I handed my mother a steak knife and asked her to just kill me, seeing as I did nothing but cause her trouble, I was already carving my path as victim. As having stuff done to me, instead of being the doer.

My entire life has been characterised by taking on responsibility without taking on true accountability. By embroiling myself in the trappings of whatever looks impressive, but without ever really committing to owning it. Writing. Being a husband. Fatherhood. When I’ve fucked up, there’s always a ready excuse. Always a reason, a justification. But no, never accountability. Not really.

I talk a good game. I say the words I know people expect to hear. I’m likeable, but am I a good person? Words are cheap. Behaviour is the true indicator of goodness, I now understand. You become what you do, for better and for worse.

I flirt with any woman who looks twice at me. Seeking validation. A balm to soothe the wounds I’ve spent a lifetime inflicting upon myself. I know now I can never find validation from another person. I know nobody else will truly accept me until I accept myself. That starts with being honest.

This will be a purge of sorts. A way to vent. To try to make sense of this torturous web of lies I have constructed to manage my life. I’ve hurt too many people with my lies. It’s time to take responsibility.

I will not lie here.

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