Tonight I’m gonna break away
Just you wait and see
I’ll never be imprisoned by
A faded memory
— Rusty Young (for Poco), “Crazy Love”
I almost always believe my own lies. I’ve lived inside this mind for long enough to know better. But I still fall for my own clever tricks.
I try not to lie to other people. I was raised to be a good liar, so I certainly know how, but I know it’s wrong. It know it hurts others. I even know it hurts me in the long run. Every now and then, I trap myself into a situation when it’s easier to lie — but I struggle to stay truthful with others. I usually win that moral battle.
I have no scruples about lying to myself, though. The conscience that speaks so loudly when I’m tempted to mislead others completely disappears when it comes to myself. And even though I’m usually insightful enough to suspect when others are lying, I’m a gullible child when it comes to my own lies.
There’s a war that goes on inside me. Different parts of me want different things. Each part of me is certain that he knows what’s best for me. It works that way for you, too, even though you’re convinced there’s one united “you” in there.
And when one part of me wants what it wants — in defiance of everything which the rational parts of me know is best — that part of me lies.
I lie to myself about my feelings. I lie about my future. I lie about money. I lie about what I’m going to eat. But most of all, I lie to myself about love.

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