Yesterday we talked about some people who tell lies so amazing that it's . . . amazing. Some of us confessed to lying. Now I want to convene this meeting of Liars Anonymous by saying, Hi! My name is Janie Junebug, and I'm a liar.
I lie a lot, and most of it is on this blog. It's part of my shtick. Especially hyperbole.
Not long ago, one of the young servers at the neighborhood diner (yes, it opened back up with a different name, in case I forgot to tell you) told me that she said to the other servers, I want to be Janie when I grow up because everything with Janie is larger than life.
I think that's cool. Everything is fantastic and fabulous and terrible and terrific in Janieland. Inventing a world? Much more fun than reality. In Janieland, Willy Dunne Wooters looks exactly like Ryan Gosling. In Janieland, we have fun, fun, fun, and Daddy never takes the T-bird away.
Definitely the Wooters man.
Something troubles me a bit. I might write on my blog "this is a lie or a joke," and a number of people seem to think I'm telling the truth. The reality is that you shouldn't believe a word I say. This fantasy land belongs to me, and it makes me happy.
Okay. That was a lie. I tell the truth sometimes. I've been pretty open about my problems with depression and anxiety and how much better I feel now. All true.
But most of my life I lived a lie. I pretended to love someone I hated because I didn't know how to live otherwise. As the years passed, this person accused me of lying frequently--not huge lies like, Bitch, how could you say you were in New York on 9/11? but stuff like, You said you took everything out of the safety deposit box, but you didn't. I'd try to explain that what I had actually said was that I had taken everything I needed immediately out of the safety deposit box, but nothing was acceptable. I reached the point that if I accidentally said the wrong word I would cry because I knew I was in so much trouble, and the reaction would be terrible.
The person who thought my jokes were funny suddenly pretended to believe I thought my exaggerations were reality so I could be caught in more lies. Lies that were nothing but jokes. The lies made the person furious with me, but later I would hear the person repeat my jokes in a gathering because it was clear all along that they were jokes.
The reality is that the person who accused me of all this lying is a pathological liar, whose lies became so much a part of life that at times the person didn't know the difference between the truth and a lie--or at least I think the person didn't know. I couldn't crawl inside the person's brain to find out, and I don't want to visit that brain anyway.
This person told me not long ago that I am evil, and I see evil in other people because it's what I am.
It shouldn't hurt, but it does.
The pathological liar in my life received support from someone else who told such ludicrous lies about me that I would have laughed if I hadn't been traumatized.
And no one seems to understand that being called a liar is painful to me. Yes, I will lie to you. I will lie because I don't want to hurt your feelings. I won't tell you your idea is stupid because you won't follow through on it anyway, and if you do, then you'll figure out it's stupid. Or maybe I'm wrong, and your idea is brilliant. I will decline the invitation to your party and say I don't feel well when the reality is that I can't face being in a group of people, but it's too hard to explain so I tell this small lie.
These small lies are kindnesses.
Willy Dunne Wooters and I have a good system. We live now. We know the basics of each other's painful pasts. We don't dwell on them. Instead, we talk about politics and we watch a movie and we talk about how much we like stuff and we joke and we laugh and we laugh and we laugh. Then we make love.
The one person with whom I have been the most honest no longer speaks to me. I gushed honesty with this person because for some reason I felt I needed to tell the truth. I don't know why. I guess I sensed the person would find out eventually. Better to find out from me. Maybe I hoped this person wouldn't repeat the mistakes I made. The most important relationship in my life vanished,
Oh, there I go again with the hyperbole, but it's not for the sake of comedy. It's because I am so miserable and haunted that I don't know what to do. I won't die. Not now. Probably not for a long time. I just want this person to love me again.
Please, please, please tell me I am not evil because the person who told me I am had so much authority over me for so many years that even though I know it's not true, I'm still scared. Yes, I'm kind of fishing for compliments, but it's closer to falling, and I need you to help me stay on my feet.
Play us out, please, Dogs.
Infinities of love,
I won't be here tomorrow because I need to edit. I plan on returning Thursday, October 1, for The Battle of the Bands. Then on Friday, Franklin wants to make an important announcement.