I can see for miles --

I am not good at many things.  However, I am good at reading people.  No matter what you say, I know what you mean.  No matter how you act, I know how you feel.  Though I do understand that people sometimes have reasons for not directly saying what they mean, 

I can't stand a liar.

I am not good at lying.  But let's talk about the difference between lying and manipulation.  For instance, if I flake out on a friend, even if I have the intent of coming up with a totally believable excuse, I always fail miserably.  With me, you will always get the hard, honest truth (unless you're asking me if that dress makes your @ss look big).  However, when it comes to work situations, for instance, I have no problem manipulating a situation to get my way.  

For example, there once was a girl whom I thought was my friend.  Well, it turns out she wasn't (I have learned to trust less, as hard as it is).  At first when she started acting towards me in a way I found hurtful, I was just that: hurt.  But then I got tired of being upset by her.  So I pulled the manager to the side one night, crocodile tears and all, and explained how I didn't understand what I had done.  I used all the right words...

I even suggested that maybe 

this place was not the right fit 

for me and that perhaps I 

should move on as I did not

want to cause drama for those

that were there before me*

*i.e. that girl

But I knew I was going nowhere.  First of all, I liked the place.  I really did.  Second of all, though I was one of the last people hired, I was one of the most efficient people on staff (this was a bar).  Customers loved me - and in the service industry, it's all about the customer.

I don't know if it was the tears, the use of the word "bully," or the passive-aggressive suggestion that I might quit, but the girl was put in her place by the manager.  And eventually fired.  And that was fine by me.  Maybe it was wrong, but relationships and business are two clearly separate things for me.

Back to lying.  I really can't stand a liar.  I see no reason to lie unless it is for the mutual benefit of both parties involved (i.e. not telling your mother-in-law that her meatloaf sucks; hiding a surprise party for someone's birthday, etc).  I really just don't get it.

Why is it easier for people to lie

than to tell the truth?

How do you build a relationship with someone who lies to you about the littlest things?  Maybe they're lying about the big things - maybe they're not.  But how can you be sure?  How can you trust a person that lies to you?  How can you form an intimate relationship with someone that cannot be honest with you?

Many times the things people lie about aren't even important.  That's what makes it even harder to understand.  If you want to buy something, if you want to do something, if you want to go somewhere, why do people feel a need to lie to their partners about it?  Many times the subject matter wouldn't even matter if it were spoken about honestly.  

What makes it 

a bone 

of contention

is the lie 

itself --

What makes it so important is the dishonesty itself.  What makes it such a problem is the fact that someone is hiding something from you.  And what makes it the biggest problem for me is

the fact that 
I will always
know you're lying --

Oftentimes, those lies also play into how the parties involved are treating each other.  When someone in a relationship has something to hide, they automatically become more closed off and litigious.  They automatically start making excuses for themselves.  They automatically distance themselves from the other person involved.

So, how do you come back from a lie?  Can you even ever fix a relationship that has been riddled with lies and the eventual hurtful words (and situations) that surround them?  Is it worth putting in the effort necessary to accept and move past these lies?

When is

"I'm sorry,

I'm a monster"

no longer 

enough?

xLoJu

Always been crazy --

Throughout my childhood, I suffered silently through feelings of self-hate, paranoia, and the fear of disappointing my family.  Although I performed well in school - performed being the operative word - I was never truly happy.

My fear of doing "something wrong" stopped me from truly experiencing the life I was, at the time, blessed to live.  My childhood passed me by without any meaningful friendships - or, for that matter, really any friendships at all.  At an age where I should have had innocent relationships with my peers in order to understand myself and really blossom into the person I would have become, I studied hard, had manners, and always did the right thing.

But I was fat.

And this was always held above my head as the ultimate failure.  My wealthy relatives on my father's side insisted that my mother had "made me fat" out of spite to embarrass them amongst their friends in high society.  My father asked, although out of concern for my health, whether I did not want to sit in a chair without taking up the whole thing.  And my mother continued to feed me.

Ironically enough, I was never really bullied in school or made embarrassed because of my weight.  I mean, not that I was not an outcast - believe me when I tell you I was - however it was because of the fact that I was, rather, mentally and emotionally different from my peers.  Irony comes into play because what did make me feel bad about my weight was those same wealthy relatives asking me "if I even cared" about the fact that I would be bullied at school.  

Early on I realized that there was something 

going on with me that was not quite right.

For some time I believed it was just part of growing up.  But this faded quickly as my friends moved through the passes of puberty, making mistakes, and experimenting all the while coming out on the other side unscathed.  I did nothing for fear of the consequences.

Each emotion hit me like a ton of bricks.  I hated myself.  I was a failure.  I was fat.  I was ugly.  I sliced my fears into my skin.  I didn't understand.

But I was perceptive enough to know I needed help - so I asked for it.  Although I wasn't taken seriously by my family - you're healthy, you have enough money, you have everything you could ever want and more - they eventually gave in around age 14 and let me see a therapist.

That lasted about three sessions.  My mother, also being emotionally unstable (I hear these things run in families), fed what information she saw fit to my doctor.  My doctor never seemed to remember my name, what grade I was in, or much of anything we talked about - at, I'm sure, hundreds of dollars an hour.  The one thing she did seem to remember, however, was that she was convinced that I was

pretending to have multiple personalities.

This will have had something to do with the fact that I told her I blacked out and found myself 12 miles away from home on the doorstep of the one woman I knew whom took the time to accept me.  And something about the fact that I might be "slightly depressed."

Whether I was taken out of therapy or stopped going, I can't recall as is the case with much of that period of my life.  What I do remember, however, and what has remained the same to this day is my family's belief that I don't need help, and that I'm only really suffering because "I'm just too smart."  

Well, I think if that were true, now 11 years later, I would have somehow found a way out of this mess.

One day I will.  As it is now, I am (almost) 5 years married to the love of my life.  They say that opposites attract.  Well, not in our case:

I think when you're nuts you exude some sort 

of energy that attracts others

exactly like you.

From my husband, my family, and even down to the few people I am fortunate enough to consider true friends, they are all completely out of their minds.  Every last one of them.  And I say this with love.

This journal will be comprised of my thoughts and anecdotes as I try to understand what's wrong with me, what's wrong with my husband, and what's wrong with our relationship--

xLoJu