Less than promised, more than I expected

Is there a specific time in our lives that we become comfortable with lying? Not just lying to others, but lying to ourselves. Is it when we learn that pointing at our siblings can sometimes deflect the blame for the food on the ceiling, or holes in the wall? Do we learn it, and do it at a young age in order to avoid letting our parents know that we have done something we know we shouldn't have done? So we don't disappoint them? Do we learn to tell lies in order to avoid letting down those that are the most important to us?

As I think about it, I have told the worst lies for that reason. I have not told lies in order to get anything or to get anyone. Sometimes it feels like the people that I am most honest with are strangers, because I don't care about their opinion at all. It's only when it was something that involved my friends or family that I instinctively feel the need to either hold back the whole truth or to exagerate it. I guess the biggest lie is the one that I keep telling myself. I seem to believe that my friends and family can't read me, don't know me, or could somehow be so disappointed in me that they would leave. Even now, as I write this, I'm scared of what people that read it may think about me.

I spent so much of my life lying to myself about being happy. I lied to myself about the things that people did to me, tried to hide the fact that I saw what was happening because I was embarassed that I hadn't done anything about it, scared about anyone seeing how I let myself be treated like crap. Again, I should have trusted that my friends and family knew it and were ready to help me. Live and learn I suppose.

This is what happens when I clean the kitchen

The strangest things bring us comfort, or at least they do for me. I have a clock in my room that no longer tells the time, but it makes a loud ticking sound, as clocks are known to do. For some reason I find it very comforting to hear it. I like watches that tick instead of those that are digital simply because of the noise. I find a little clutter, as opposed to lots of empty room, to be comforting. Especially in my own room. Than again, my room is tiny so I might have just adapted to my space. Or, I could be lazy. I find just holding a cup of hot chocolate to be soothing, even if I haven't drank any yet. Thinking of my Dad, who will always seem so unmovable to me, and yet so warm, always calms me down. Cheez-Its, my old Vans, my Disneyland hoodie, my sweats, cleaning the house and baking are a few of the others. I wonder how sane I would be able to stay without these things. I mean some of them aren't that old, and I can't remember at the moment if they have replaced anything. I guess I could just drink more.