What am I doing?

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing. Not in the moment, but what I’m doing with a situation, an event, an idea. What have I gotten myself into pops into my head again and again. I always make things harder for me than they have to be. It’s easier to lie than to tell the truth. Easier to deny what has happened than to explain what has. It’s not, but I feel like it is… easier. Sometimes I can’t control it. It’s like a wave is crashing over me, the immovable rock. I lie before I have a chance to even realize the truth. But once the lie is told it becomes the truth in my mind. Am I a pathological liar? I don’t think so, rather a convenient liar. I lie when it suits me, when it gets me out of trouble. Yes, it’s a lot of work but I get a strange sadistic pleasure from doing it. Once the lie has run its course, the relief I gain is so powerful, that I guess I don’t mind the pain caused during the lie itself. The pain, I mean, is guilt. I never make a lie that I know I can’t hold. I only make lies that keep me going in the moment. A lie about a homework assignment, about what I did in my free time, what I did at a party, what I’m going to do. Will it stop, I don’t know, but I don’t think it will. I don’t believe that honesty is the best policy. I think whoever truly believes that doesn’t fully comprehend the complexity of the human race. Which means that if god condemns it, well… I’ll leave it at that. Lying, bending the truth, they all can help people just as much as it can hurt. But again it’s not the lie that hurts, it’s the truth.