Ihave always been drawn to tell lies. As a youngster I used to tell my friends they had a brand new puppy in my home. I was scared of dogs, and never ever asked my parents to get one, but I was aware that dogs could be attractive to the other young people of six. When Julie was the French girl who had a blunt haircut visited me for a playdate She was skeptical when I explained to her that my dog was in another room. “He’s asleep,” I explained. I was accused as lying gave her Lucky my plush dallian. I held him in the same way I’d seen my mom hold my infant brother. “Shh ,”I whispered to Julie. She didn’t come back.
I told lies in white and generally. “I’m taking a course in Biology,” I once told an acquaintance in a nail salon, even though I had no curiosity about sciences. Other stories were random, such as telling a friend that I’d spent on a Saturday at a club in the company of Adrian Grenier (nope), and also that I was in seven relationships that were serious before (I aged 26 with two boyfriends).
Certain lies were more serious and more grave, such as the Sunday night when I awoke at the Emergency Room after blacking out after eating breakfast as I fell down the flight stairs. I was transported to the hospital by an ambulance. And because I was just 24 years old and still in my parents health insurance I was terrified at the thought of receiving bills through the post. The reality of my blackout was too shocking to reveal to them. It was not my intention to cause them be worried. Therefore, I informed them that I was hit by a cab , instead.
Certain lies were more serious and more dangerous, such as the night of my Sunday that I woke to find myself in the Emergency Room after blacking out after eating breakfast after falling off a set stairs. I was transported to the hospital by an ambulance. Since I was only 24 years old and still in my parents health insurance plan I panicked at the thought of getting a bill through the mail. The reality of my blackout seemed to be too painful to reveal to them. I did not want my parents be worried. Therefore, I informed them that I was struck by a cab , instead.
Out of all those I’ve admitted to lying to I was the one who was the most successful in deceiving myself. The research has dubbed this deceit “self-deception,” explaining that it is a form of mental dissociation. I was aware that my blackouts were hazardous, troublesome and difficult to manage, yet I was completely unable to stop drinking. Therefore, I created mental processes which allowed me to forget specific memories and tell myself what I would like to be told that morning: After waking up with hair that was soiled with vomit after drinking heavily the previous night I realized that I had just been sick in the taxi journey to home. If I went to sleep and wept in the middle of the night, it was because was stressed out about work. After I got home, with a person I don’t recall meeting, I thought that it was a comedy. I changed from vodka to tequila , white wine, and then to beer, before switching and back to vodka, telling myself that this time it was going to be different. I believed I could control the ways my body and brain consumed liquor, however the reality was that I had no idea of what was going to happen once I began to drink.
There were days when I slipped on curbs and sidewalks and the ground was rushed into my path until I was pushed with my face in the air. The initial impact could occasionally knock me out of a blackout the impact slicing through my knees and palms, transmitting a signal that my brain needed to rise. I was always quick to get up and reassured everyone around me that I was in good health. I tried to get the pain out however once I was conscious that I was suffering, the pain became difficult to ignore. The discovery of the truth behind my blackouts came as a shock to my body. After years of being underwater, I was finally coming to a halt and looking at the last remnants of my past. I realized that I’d not just betrayed myself by lying about how alcohol impacted me, but I was also deceiving myself about why I started drinking at all in the first place. I never let myself acknowledge the fear and pain I felt when I was 16 and 26, or 24. I was embarrassed to have emotions, so put them away. the feelings.
When I got clean at 28, I began to analyze my lies. There were many of them: the excuses I made to excuse myself from attending events in the midst of a shaky hangover as well as the exaggerated information concerning my romantic life and the truth of how out of control my drinking had become. I was terrified of my family and friends being able to see me at my lowest. So I built a home–brick by brick, lying by lying–to secure myself.
It’s funny, but If you had been able to ask me about my drinking habits while I was drinking I would have said I was honest. The act of lying and hiding secrets from people was not something I did in order to be cruel, but rather an evolutionary mechanism to survive. Studies show that primates developed the ability to lie to increase their chances of survival. an article from 2018 explains how false denial is a coping mechanism to manage guilt and shame. I was deeply uncomfortable in my skin and desperately wanted to be someone other than myself. If you were as miserable as I do, I often believed that you would be lying too. It was natural to change what I believed to be the case when my truth was difficult. I was often concerned that my habit of embellishing was a sign of a bad character however, I justified my actions by telling myself that my deceit was innocent and I wasn’t trying to harm anyone but instead trying to save myself.
As I recovered, I began to realize that lying was a technique used by many at an early age to cope with feelings of inadequacy, discomfort, and shame that were internalized about my body. Alcoholism, I realized is the inability to be truthful to ourselves and others in general, not just about drinking, however, but about the internal functioning of our minds. I was shocked to learn that alcohol-related disorders may cause damage to brain areas such as the frontal cortex. This type of damage, it appears has been proven to enhance the risk of actions like risk-taking, disturbance of decision-making, and lying over time.
However, I was lying for a long time before taking my first sip. Perhaps some kids just fabricate stories, their imaginations running wild. I was taught to deceive by the man who assaulted me sexually when I was a kid. It was my habit to keep all information about my family members and the other adults who were in my life. the incident put me off in my brain, which rewired it to create lies when the truth appeared too unpleasant. After I was exposed to alcohol for a while my habit of lying got worse.
The secret of our illness keeps us suffering. In the past, I’ve been in denial of my battles with alcohol and the truth about my addiction. If I didn’t confront myself, I was unable to get back on track to healing. If I was going to recover fully I must begin doing a rigorous process of honesty throughout my life.
In the spirit that honesty is the best policy I’m going, to be honest in this article: This didn’t occur to me naturally during my initial sobriety. I was feeling feelings for the first time in more than 10 years and was revealing huge facts to my family and my therapist. However, I was shocked to realize the extent of the knee-jerk reaction that lying had turned into. When a colleague asked me about my weekend plans on a Tuesday morning, I was tempted by the need to lie and create stories of enjoyable parties, even though I’d spent the past 48 hours in recovery sessions or sitting on my couch horizontally. With no drama that I had created while drinking–Who was the person, I texted that night? Did everyone hate me? life was much calmer. In reality, there were times I was not aware of it. I missed the ways that I could be able to escape the chaos of managing it. In my quiet time, I had to confront those parts of me I wanted to keep out.
I was too afraid to lose to continue the same habit of lying. In groups for recovery, they state there is a clear relationship between loneliness and addiction and loneliness, both in the physical as well as emotional sense. My demons kept me far from myself. I made up lies to make myself another person and, when I was caught lying, I often retreated from those who were closest to me. It was an unending loop that left me in shame. I was eager to get out of it.
A therapist once explained to me that trauma is the cause of isolation, while recovery is integration. While I was drinking it was difficult to acknowledge how many times I awoke feeling complete fear and demoralizing shame for the previous night. I was able to separate myself from my drunken self and was frightened by the fact that I didn’t care about what had happened to me after I went to sleep. I also disassociated myself from my child inside, that little girl who was taught to hide as a means of security. In my recovery I was able to create space for the different versions of me. I listened to the emotions and fears about that which we drank and lied about and began to be able to soothe everyone.
In all honesty, there are instances when I’d rather conceal: when I fail not to email you, don’t know the film that everyone is talking about or am trying to stay clear of conflicts. It’s not always easy. Yet, I’m working to admit whenever I’ve been untruthful to my self or with someone other. The confidence in myself and tranquility I’ve experienced when I stopped lying in sobriety was what I looked for in every drink and shady breath.
