The Pathological Liar

The Pathological Liar:

It has been said that I am a “Pathological Liar” by some…an “Accomplished Liar” by others…or even a “Skilled Liar Of Epic Proportions Not Seen Since The Dawn Of Man”!

I particularly like that last one; it sounds almost Biblical, don’t you think?

Were it to be true, that would have to mean that I would out-rank all of the scum which human history has produced. Ruthless dictators who massacred millions in their warped quest for power? Sorry boys…back to the end of the line, for I’m Number One! Warped psychos whose only purpose was to recruit followers into their own private cult to do their bidding without question? Rank amateurs not even worthy of a mention. Politicians and lawyers? Now they would give me a run for my money if I could just figure out in which order they should be placed!

In any case, I can definitely feel the breath of both of them on the back of my neck as we stand in line.

There are some to whom such a lofty perch might prove to offer too much pressure to maintain; sorry, but weaklings with good intentions need not apply. If you can’t stand the heat, then don’t burn down the kitchen!

When I confronted the individual who had made the “Skilled Liar of yadda…yadda…yadda” claim and inquired for what reasons they had made that statement, I was met with a long list of quotations of some of my most famous retorts which went on for fifteen minutes minimum. Obviously proud of his accomplishment, what absolutely amazed me was that this person had actually memorized each and every one verbatim! Now that takes dedication…something I’ve never quite been able to set my sights on. If that is all he has to do, it makes one ponder the question of ‘doesn’t this guy have a life’?

Now, being the kind and considerate person that I am, I decided that I would help out this poor, misguided soul and give him a new purpose in life…something he could be proud of accomplishing. So, once he had completed his list, I just shrugged my shoulders and spoke only one word in response. It was as if watching a balloon slowly deflate when I simply inquired “And…?” as if his attempt at capturing my true self left much to be desired. Placing my arm around his shoulders—as if one dear friend conversing with another—I proceeded to recite a further litany of my ‘failures to speak the truth’ which lasted a good twenty minutes longer (all having been proven by documentation and verification from competent sources, of course), after which I gave him a pat on the back while indicating that when he was ready to advance beyond chapter two of the story to come and look me up and I would be glad to give him more documented material to work with in the future!

I know…I know; but what can I say? I am a true humanitarian with a heart of gold; one who always puts the needs of others before me and considers what can be most beneficial for them. It’s a curse which I have learned to live with, however.

Perhaps I should write that one down to give to him at our next confrontation? I would have no creditable source to verify the veracity of this obvious fabrication, but I highly doubt that he would require any outside confirmation on such a claim!

I often find myself pondering the question of “When did my talent for false fabrications and inaccurate deception become so prominent?” Unfortunately, that is a question which I cannot answer accurately—shocking how that should be my intention, isn’t it? I come to this conclusion due to the fact that I cannot possibly know what words I spoke as a small child. When did I begin to lie to my parents? Oh please…so who hasn’t?

I know that I had become an accomplished aficionado of fiction early in grade school when I was introduced to the concept of homework, but I had to have completed my apprenticeship into the fine art of dishonest deception prior to those days; or else how would I have been so good at improvised excuses of why I did not happen to have it with me?

One of my favorites was how—as I was waiting for the school bus to pick me up—I was holding it in my hand while reviewing my answers to make certain how they were accurate as I wanted the teacher to be proud of me…when a sudden heavy gust of wind tore it from my grasp! Stunned at this sudden turn of events, I was rendered immobile as I watched what was hours of my best work floating away in the breeze. Finally capable of movement, I ran as fast as I could in order to catch up to this wayward document, I failed to notice that my backpack had been left open, and all of the past-due assignments from the last two weeks (which I had stayed up all night to do so I could turn them all in that day) were falling out! But as my complete attention was on that one errant paper dipping and dancing in the air like a kite on a string, I wasn’t aware of this disaster until I had arrived in the classroom! While I am far from the fastest runner in my class, the constant fluttering of the paper was allowing me to catch up to where I could recapture it. So intent was I, that I never noticed the orange cones which had been set up on the roadway and the sidewalk. A loud noise assailed my ears, but due to my intense focus upon the homework which I had so dutifully completed that night, I gave it little heed. The aroma of something familiar filled my nostrils, but once again I was too busy to question what it was. Closer and closer I came to capturing the work it had been my sacred duty to perform! Just as I was stretching out my arm to its very limits to grab it and claim it from the wind, the air currents changed…causing my well-done homework to drop like a stone…directly underneath the roller of a giant steamroller which was flattening out the newly-laid asphalt covering the street! In complete shock, I watched as the paper—my homework—my sacred duty to be placed into the hands of my wonderful and understanding teacher—was crushed into the asphalt…only to disappear and forever to become part of the intersection of Fifth and Main!

Not bad for First Grade, was it? I was so proud of that one that I memorized it word for word.

While I do not like to make statements based completely on conjecture—I prefer to know for a fact my inaccuracies—I like to believe how my very first words were the cornerstone of introducing my gift to the world. How could I possibly have accomplished such a feat? As I was being cooed at and forced to listen to my mother make a fool of herself with spouting ‘babytalk’ directly into my face, I uttered my very first words “Da-da”. So amazed that I had spoken, she immediately called my father over to gush out the wonderful news! I found myself raised off the floor by the big strong hands (or so they appeared to me at the time) of my father until I was face-to-face with him. His smiling countenance filled my vision as he proceeded to take up the standard of my mother and tell me in that goofy voice which parents reserve for their little ones how proud of his ‘big boy’ he was, when I uttered my second word “Ma-ma.” Naturally, at first they were overjoyed that I had said my first words; soon, however, my mother started in with how she wished my father had been ‘Johnny on the spot’ with our movie camera and somehow captured the moment for all eternity. My father being the wise man that he was—which was evident in later life in my teenage years by his ability to always find the copies of Playboy I had swiped from his room—pointed out to mother how I had called him Ma-ma and her Da-da. At this point, they would have probably both broken out in laughter while repeating my mistake constantly. Seeing the depth of their reaction to errant words so innocent and so pure, I must have made the connection of not telling what was the truth to making people happy and laugh.

And thus, my career was born!

While I cannot recall all of the fabrications I have made over the years, some in particular stand out in my memory.

On the subject of girls, through my teenage years—oh the lies I told them! From the simple “Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine” of my early teens only to run off when it was my turn to reveal, to the age-old “Of course I’ll still respect you”, believe me I was hell-on-wheels!

When it came to work…well, let’s just say that the phrase ‘work ethic’ had no meaning to me! From the opening salvo of my totally falsified resume to “Hey Boss…I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you know Henderson down in accounting? Well he…”, I rose to the occasion every time.

Guys I hung out with would have to remember all of the times I told them “Hey, the next round is on me” only to pretend to have to use the restroom and sneak out the back door when it was my turn to buy. And there might have been a time or two when the words “It was completely innocent. I know that she’s your girlfriend; we were just dancing, that’s all!” were uttered…only to have the two of us shortly disappear out into the parking lot for a rendezvous.

Oh, such good times!

Have I tried to tell the truth? For me to stoop to such drastic depths of depravity, it would take one powerful reason for such an attempt to be made! But yes, I have tried; tried very hard upon occasion if the reason was very powerful…powerful and important to me.

Would you believe that I was desperately in love once? It’s true how I was head-over-heels madly in love with this one special young lady. Oh, she was incredibly beautiful—so beautiful in fact that when I looked upon the perfection that was her face and gazed into those ‘highways to the soul’ which other men would call her eyes, I could not lie. Not even the smallest little white lie could escape my lips she was so pure of spirit! Women loved her while men adored her she was so special. It was as if an angel had come down from heaven to be a gift to us mere mortals with her presence. I just knew that it would take a Greek God in all his glory to win the heart of this woman…and I wasn’t even in the game. But for some inexplicable reason, it was me who she chose! The smile she would give me when she first saw me as I came to pick her up for the evening was as if a single ray of sunshine had broken through the rolling black clouds of a thunderous storm. And when I held her in my arms, it was as if time itself stopped; and the rest of the world simply disappeared.

What happened?

It was the day when I had gone to Sullivan’s Jewelry Store to buy her the ring which we had seen in the window as we strolled along the streets hand in hand one evening. I was just so happy at the thought of what I was about to do; the idea of what a life shared with this angel would be like filled me with something I had never felt before…I was hopelessly in love! I could feel the brightly-wrapped box in my pocket burning a hole in my leg I was so anxious to give it to her. Parking across the street from her house as if it were going to be just another evening of bliss, she was waiting for me on the steps. When she saw me, she got the biggest smile upon her face. Rising to her feet, she began running as if to meet me as quickly as possible; the idea of losing herself in my arms was as strong in her as it was in me. All she could see was me…for that moment, there was nothing else in her world.

She never even saw the truck until the screeching of its tires as the driver desperately slammed on his brakes turned her head. He did his best to try to avoid her as she froze in the middle of the road…but to no avail! As if in slow motion in a scene which will burn within my heart and soul until the day I die, I saw her go flying through the air…the sickening sound of the truck slamming into her something which awakens me with a cold sweat in the dead of night as she enters my world in the only way possible…in my dreams.

When I reached her, I could see that she was hurt badly. Cradling her head in my lap, I could feel the tears streaming down my face to fall upon her closed eyes. From somewhere within, the thought of putting the ring upon her finger came to me. Tearing at the wrapping, I opened the box and oh so gently placed the ring upon her finger. Her eyes fluttered as she opened them. I could see the pain she was experiencing in those eyes, until she saw the ring upon her bloodied hand. Once more, that sweet smile came to the face of my angel as she realized what I had done…and what I had been about to do. One last sweet smile…and then she was gone!

You know something? It isn’t easy being a pathological liar. I say this, because that story which I just shared with you—the one where I bared my very soul—is nothing but bull!

I was never in love with anyone! That is an emotion which I will never share!

Got you though, didn’t I?

Yeah, I’m that good.

Do you even know what a ‘Pathological Liar’ is? The dictionary version goes something like this: “the chronic behavior of compulsive or habitual lying” followed by “seems to lie for no apparent reason”.

Now don’t you see the quandary that creates?

If I am a compulsive or habitual liar, then I must be incapable of telling the truth. If that is the case, then everything I say must be a lie, right? But if I say that I am lying, then accordingly, that will have to be a lie…and therefore I must be telling the truth! But how can I tell the truth if I am a compulsive liar? And if I admit to being a liar, and all that I do is tell lies, then where is the voracity in that statement.

Quite confusing, isn’t it?

Right about now, I would imagine that you are dying to know if the tale I shared about being in love with my angel was a lie…and thus had to be the truth, aren’t you?

Hey…would I lie to you?