I am #10822, and everyone I know believes at least one lie that I've purposely told them.
I'm pretty sure that I've told multiple lies to everyone I know. The longer you've known me, the more often I have likely lied to you.
Except it's become much worse recently. I tell complete strangers what I daydream for myself. I make myself out to be some dedicated individual with a goal and a drive and the smarts to achieve all I want and more. One day you'll see me laughing in a red convertible, scattering hundred dollar bills as I speed off into the sunset. In this scenario I am of course unbelievably sexy and unattainable, the girl that men desire and women envy.
This will probably never happen. I'll probably end up living in a small apartment with a desk job and a head full of lies on my alleged wild success. I may or may not have a boyfriend, but he will probably not be for anything other than passing the time.
The frightening thing is that I am absolutely content with this prospective scenario. I'm okay with a humdrum life. I've always been told to reach for the stars, to do my best. CompeteCompeteCompete until you win. You can be the best if you try hard enough. You are the best. Everyone wants to be the best. Including you. If I beat you, I am better. I win. Winning is good. Winning is the Best. Win.
I have no idea why I have chosen to type this out to you. Maybe so someone knows the truth. Someone completely unrelated to my life. Maybe you sympathize with me. Maybe this is all a huge lie to gain this sympathy. Because I do lie, a lot. It's rather unhealthy.
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