And not just silly white lies, like full blown, if the truth came out I’d be stoned to death lies.
Let me explain, growing up was normal. My house was normal, I never got bullied at school (apart from one kid putting a cigarette out on my ear in Secondary, but that’ll be a separate entry), but it was the same as you and me. And then, something bad happened in my life which has kinda shaped me to be who I am. won’t discuss it on here but lets just say it wasn’t a something you’d expect to happen when you’re 12.
Anyway, because of this event, a lot of focus got put on myself and my sister. And as bad as this sounds, it was kinda nice. Made you feel a bit special. However, once this attention goes away, you feel like crap. You ask yourself why people aren’t asking how you are all the time and doing stuff for you.
So I started to lie.
This was never a conscious decision, I just started doing it. I craved that attention and affection so badly, I’d just make stuff up. So at 12 (ish), I told my best friend Laura that I had an older brother that lived in Australia. For no reason. But it started a conversation about my life and that felt good again.
She’ll read this and think “you pillock, I played chess with you”
The only way I can describe it is if you’ve ever been filmed for t.v. or something. When that camera gets on you, it’s flattering, so you think “now’s my chance, I can tell the world all my ideas and philosophies on life”, then you open your mouth, and you blow it.
Anyway, so I started lying. about EVERYTHING. I craved that attention of people caring. Now for me to type all of these lies would take an eternity, so I’m not going to do that. What I can do is tell you when it all came to a very abrupt end.
And it wasn’t even THAT long ago.
So, I’m 20 or so, and I’ve just been dumped by my girlfriend. The first and only time I’ve been in love, and I mean proper bite the back of your hand every time you see her in love right?. So we split up, probably because I was too much of a wimp with her. I think I was just amazed that this ridiculously pretty girl was letting me lie on top of her and wriggle around for 2 years.
We sort of kept in touch as it wasn’t a clean break-up and I still felt how I did. And she starts hanging around with this guy. Who, drove his mothers pick-up truck thing (which was awesome by the way) and had bigger muscles and better teeth and all that stuff.
That night, about 20 of us had all been out to a club. I was probably crying in the corner throwing straws and ice cubes near her feet to get her attention. Then the night ends and she goes home with this bloke, I cannot tell you how heartbroken (and drunk) I was.
I lived in town at the time so it wasn’t far from the club and at this point in time I knew they couldn’t be that far away. So I get to my house, distraught remember, and think how can I get her back. I need her to sympathise.
Ok here it is…..
So I beat MYSELF up.
Like Jim Carrey in Liar Liar and Ed Norton in Fight Club. And you have no idea how hard it is to punch yourself in the face. Your hand stops about a quarter of an inch away EVERY TIME. I was rubbing my face on the bricks outside, stamping on my own feet, it was mental.
I just wanted this girl back, ok?
Then I rang her and told her I’d been mugged on the way home. So her and a 24 year old Brad Pitt come over to see if I’m ok. I’m like ” yeah there was 3, I mean 8 of em but they didn’t get anything and I fought back pretty well”
She cleaned me up and he just watched, probably thinking “she used to sleep with him?! he’s got a Kermit the Frog t-shirt on”
The she just left! With him. I was devastated. I don’t know what made me think this would work.
So in the morning after I’d sobered up, I looked in the mirror. As much of a terrible job I did (at punching myself in the face), the shame was a million times worse.
I’ve only now come to the conclusion, that shit like this needs to happen. My dad used to say “you’re not a real man until you’ve been in a fight”…….Pretty sure this doesn’t count though.
After all this time she doesn’t know about this (believe it or not). It’s a good job I’ve got over it.
Not that I care….