Honesty, believe it or not, is something I pride myself on among most other things. I don't care if I'm funny, likeable or fuckable, I want honesty to be the trait others revere in me. I want the people around me to feel like they never have to question what I say, even when they want to punch me. I'm not just talking about veracity, but forthrightness too. However, the passed 12 months has seen my romantic life dragged through the mud, and I've managed to take these two qualities along for the ride. What's scarier is that the lies I've been telling aren't at all calculated, they're just knee-jerk reactions, where my mouth is saying words and my brain is screaming at it like "what the fuck are you doing?" Consequences, be damned! There are two reasons why I do this.
I've always found that where you find successful romance, you find equal power. There’s none of this who wears the pants bullshit. There isn't a person who's only in it to fend off desperation or only for good chocolate cake and nothing else, nor is there someone who thinks they can get better chocolate cake elsewhere.
Since my foray into lying started a year ago, the problem's been that my love affairs keep being with girls who find my cake eh, okay at best, even after I've slaved over it all day. So, when one of them finally tells me she's found better, more delicious cake elsewhere, power shifts out of my favour. In order for me to immediately restore the balance, I too will say that I've been getting chocolate cake from somewhere else too, perhaps one with exquisite white chocolate sprinkles! The saddest part is that this is despite the actual truth that I've just been eating my own shitty cake alone in my room in front of saved episodes of The Food Channel! Rewinding through my favourite parts with my free knife hand.
So, from then on I have to exhaustively act disgusted whenever she sees me cooking my own cake. I also have to plant crumbs from the other fake girl's cake around my kitchen when she comes over to pick up her things I've practically been holding hostage. It's a layer cake of lies that I can bake myself into in a matter of seconds, but then it takes months to begrudgingly eat my way out of it! Also, I'll rarely ever actually have the balls to come right out and just admit "yeah, I'm not just lonely anymore, I'm also a liar, you got me!"; two very attractive L words to the opposite sex. But there's also something else here too.
I'll Never Starve Though
A fear of mine in any non-exclusive casual fling is looking like someone who can't get cake elsewhere. Now, I'm not saying that I'm not desperate, nor am I admitting that I am, but I certainly don't want to be seen as such, so I lie to make sure! I lie through my teeth about how much of other people's cake I've been having, acting like I've had heaps. But it's not so much about feeding my Brad Pitt complex as it is about ensuring people know the place they hold in my heart. Need more?
Well, I've had arrangements with people where I'm just killing time 'til the next sweet serving, and then on the flip side, I've had other things which have made me never want anybody else's cake again, but ultimately didn't work out. I don't want the latter to think they're just the former. Despite this, even in the loosest of unions, I have a tendency to shut out other cakes, which actually makes it seem to the other person that I am in fact desperate; they don't see the rejection, just the outcome. So, when I dishonestly say that I've had other's, I'm basically just ensuring that I'm with them because I chose to be with them, not because I felt like I didn't have a choice. You see, to me, the beauty about wanting be with someone is that it stops being about how good the cake is and how good other cakes might be, and it starts to be about cake you know you'll be happy with for the rest of your life. It's not about settling for the first girl who comes along or wanting the most popular chick you know to touch your dick, it's about finding something in someone else which makes something in you crazy, no matter the time, no matter where you are in the world.
While I can't exactly blame them, I don't really like desperate, hungry people; they don't date people, they date concepts. That's bad news for you if they ever come across the sample counter down at the local supermarket, because they'll keep the concept they care so much for, but they'll swap out your cake for that one, fucking guaranteed! You see, everybody wants to be the star of their very own little romantic comedy, myself included. We're brainwashed into ideas of perfection, which is a fucking mirage, but people will still leave you for it. So, I don't want to simply fill in the blank in someone else's bullshit concept, nor do I want someone to think that they're filling my blank, more importantly. So I lie. I know, I didn't make myself this way, it just sort of happened.
Anyway, it needs to end, the lying. I've ended it before and I can do it again. Up until my mid-teens, exaggerating the truth and making up stories had become a nasty little habit of mine. They weren't particularly bad or malicious, they were just little embellishments of the truth, but it was nonsensical and exhausting. I hated myself for it. Eventually I decided that no matter how boring the details and no matter what colour they painted me, I had to ignore that little liar who lives in my ear, and it was a monumental realisation. I just think this last year and a half I've been at my weakest, perhaps - immature, bad temper, health in decline, insecure, lonely - and in that I've let some old habits resurface in order to protect myself. I know I can be better.