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6:45 p.m. - 2002-08-13
I'm a fucking liar.
Iím a liar.

Not often, and not as a practice, but I lie, and have lied.

I told a lie in this diary not too long ago. I halved a lie that I had been telling for years, but it was still a lie.

I said that I have had sex with five women. Lie. The number is three.

Why? Because when I started talking to Bianca, I the subject came up, and I started to tell her the regular inflated number, but it felt wrong. It always felt wrong to me, as it is the one thing that I have never been truthful about. I started to tell her the regular inflated number, and for the first time I cared enough to not do it, like it really mattered. I found the lie not falling out of my mouth in the same, practiced, lubricated way it always had before, with the rationalization that it didnít matter shoving it and letting me repeat it, so I stammered, and suddenly couldnít do it. But it was unplanned, I had accepted long before that this lie would be with me for life, that no one needed to know the truth because it was unimportant. So suddenly, I found myself on the spot, a situation I am not used to since I try to pride myself on not lying to myself, and others either.

I found all the insecurity of what the lie had been born out of rise up in me, and I was only able to subtract the ones that were pure fabrication. You see, the other two, that I lied about again, had a different connotation to them. I could have slept with the other two, by most standards should have, and it was more a matter of feeling like having turned down sex made me less of a man.

One was a stripper in Mexico that picked me up on a trip there with my friends. I spent four nights with her, and she asked me to marry her and stay there with her, and this is all true as far fetched as it sounds. What wasnít true about the story I brought back from there, was that I had sex with her. She wanted to, but I couldnít do it. I had never had sex with a girl that I didnít have plans to be in a relationship with, that I didnít see myself falling in love with. So I didnít, and in my stupid male macho idiocy, I lied to my friends about that because the idea of spending four nights with a stripper, and not going through with sex when offered it, made me feel like a sap.

My friends know that I am a sap, but I guess I didnít want to admit just how much of one I am.

The other story is similar, it was a girl I was dating in Canada, who I didnít love and knew I never would. She wanted to have sex, and I always told her I wasnít ready, I even tried to on more than one occasion, but I couldnít do it. Sap.

I have only been in love three times, and only had three sexual partners. Sap.

This brings me to now, and Bianca.

I told her today that I lied. She hates liars, and canít trust me. We are done.

I fucked up. I am not doing that shit anymore, not anymore. I am so sorry that it ruined something that could have been so beautiful, but I have no one to blame but my stupid self.

Iím sorry that I lied, to you too.

I guess from now on Iíll live with being a sap instead of a liar, but I have to live with the consequences of both.

I'm a liar. A stupid motherfucking liar, and I don't deserve her. The truth hurts.


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