The Liar's Web

The Liar’s Web

Written By Kami Olsen

12/17/23

I’m good at playing the victim. I befriend people before they have the chance to think I can do any harm and I proceed to distribute all of my trauma willingly. I’m aware I add details that my brain remembers differently or even details to enhance the plot. I imply hidden meanings to events that may have not been so dramatic. Purposefully enticing my experiences and filling in the blanks with something slightly more tragic. I volunteer information about my past that I wish I could bury and never unveil, but with every new person, a new story forms. I claim that I don’t tolerate liars, but then every white lie rushes toward me.

I hold people's perspectives of me on puppet strings, carefully crafting each vision. Adjusting whichever finger may be tugging on the slivers of line whether it's ever-so-slightly or an immediate jolt. No two people receive the same image of me.

When I’m speaking, I wish I could use my hands and sew my mouth shut with the very same string I hold so dear. I want to be mysterious, but I overshare. I’m conscious of the words I speak, but my mouth refuses to quit. My lips have a job to protect me and build a barrier from other’s thoughts and hatred. People need to like me or else how will I be validated? How will I be accepted and loved? I’ve made fatal mistakes that people cannot know. There are many phrases, experiences, and stories that I will regret telling later. I will lay awake at night and wonder where I went wrong. I will torture myself with the knowledge that one day, my greatest fear will come true: everyone will see me for who I am.

I’m weaving a web of lies. I create more stories in order to make everything connect. With every sentence I speak, I get tangled even more. I’m a spider trapped in their own home. A brain with no control. Every time I try to cut myself free, the strings reappear thicker. It’s another lie to add to the collection. Another brick in the foundation.

If my web unweaves and people experience the person hiding behind walls made of secrets and deceiving truths, I will be shunned from the world. I will never be trusted again. Trust is delicate and I should guard it with my life, but which life shall I guard it with? For I live far too many. I hate trusting people, so I try to get them to believe me first by coming off as a victim. A survivor. Someone whom they can relate to. I create stories inspired by true experiences and then I tailor them based on the person I’m talking to.

I think of starting over and moving to a new place, but it won’t be long before I regenerate a more complex web. There are lies that I have forgotten I have told, yet others remember them clearly. My mind rots as it attempts to keep track of every story I tell and add corrupt information to. Once someone told me that no one could make up a true experience that was as detailed as mine, but the truth is: only half of that story was correct. Everything else I have told myself so many times, the truths are beginning to blur. The line between right and wrong; the lines between truth and propaganda. My brain is slowly succumbing to false information. I don’t know if I can even trust myself. I cannot trust myself.

As much as I want to, I can’t control my lies. I long for power. For control. I need people’s trust. I need them to love me first. I know that it will come back and haunt me in the future. I’m dreading the day of my downfall, it is inevitable. My lies are devouring my flesh and exposing my poisoned bones. I have the ability to turn people against each other and it comes with the price of my sanity. People become divided, so I need to get into their heads first. They need to believe me. I will do whatever it takes subconsciously, trust me.

I don’t want to watch the world burn, but I’ve ruined friendships voluntarily and seen countless people fight over me. I don’t want to be involved in drama, but I love following it. I love knowing what’s happening. I watch people fight for my lies. I watch them fight for a fraud. I watch people fight for me. For the person they think I am.

I want to stop lying, but a small part of me feels satisfaction. I hear the rumors others have spread about me and hatred grows inside of my mind. I refuse to spread propaganda about others, so I end up twisting my own stories. There are rare occasions where I lie in an attempt to protect someone. But the more I attempt to assist, I end up hurting them more and it destroys me in the process. I have shattered so many people by accident. I promise that I have good intentions, but I don’t know how else to protect them.

I regret every word that has come out of my mouth. I wish I had a clean slate. I wish I didn’t have an imagination as vivid as I do. Maybe then I wouldn’t speak. I’m becoming the very thing I swore I despised: a deceiver. I take pride in my achievements and accomplishments, so when I hear someone discussing what they have completed, I chime in with what I’ve earned. The main accomplishment is real, but certain details I tweak or avoid telling. I leave out beneficial information or imply a false message. Maybe I’m not an entire liar since I leave room for people’s imagination to fill in the blank spaces.

I love who I am as a person and I am quite frankly happy with my life. However, I know that I will mess up some day. I know that karma is about to strike. I know that I’m suffocating in my own web. But let me ask you one question:

How do you know that I haven’t lied in this passage?