The Truth about the Liar

Over a decade ago, I befriended a pathological liar.

I didn't know it right away, of course. I was blinded by green flags and the excitement of someone who seemed to have a lot in common with me. We met at a concert after all! They dazzled me though, with shiny things and stories padded with excitement and wonder. It took me years to see how much was actually a facade she'd built up around the reality of herself. I finally blinked and opened my eyes to clear vision and the realization that my best friend was actually a master manipulator...a monster.

When we first met, the lies were little white lies. They tended to go along with whatever she was into at the time, miraculously, something in her life would perfectly line up to whatever she was obsessed with. One lie consisted of her family actually being from England and her mother had lost her accent, and her grandfather was an affluent english man turned american detective who supposedly had connections to people who worked on the Black Dahlia case. This all came from her obsession with a british actor and true crime.

The lies got more extravagant, and any time I questioned anything, she would gaslight me and further lie to protect her tall tales. One day it was that she lived in Manhattan for a summer and had a driver, the next it was that her mother was adopted and could be the child of a Rolling Stone. She switched jobs, and our dinners together would just be her making up interactions with famous people and not letting me speak. She was just waiting for her turn to talk, and embellish her life even more. It became embarassing because I would say something to a mutual acquaintance and look like the weirdo when the story seemed suspect. She made me look delusional to cover her own ass, time and time again.

By the time she became obessed with a handful of guys in a band, she decided now her ethnic background was Mexican, and her high school education spanish was the result of her culture. Her spanish was very textbook, and I was the one to teach her slang that she didn't know. Her first argument for this was that she was actually Spanish from Spain. She would make up other things to cover her tracks, only burying herself deeper and deeper in lies.

It became clear to me that her own self loathing and inability to be herself was going to be her downfall. She would continuously pick on me for what I wore, and if I dressed more masculine than SHE preferred, she would just continue to make comments the entire time were were together. I am autistic, with severe social anxiety so making friends in the first place can be very difficult for me, so I would really hold onto people when I was younger. Even if they were the most toxic people. I only started to advocate for myself with the liar when her lies spread to my other friends and even my family. She always made promises she didn't want to keep. The breaking point was when my best friend for decades moved here...someone who actually was from New York and spoke fluent spanish because she was Puerto Rican and actually grew up in boriqua culture. She was a threat to the liar because she was so close to the things she lied about, and could easily call her out for her bullshit. No, she wasn't Mexican, but she was hispanic and could easily call out the casserole culture the liar was actually from. She didn't like that my best friend helped me respect myself and stand up to her comments. She made fun of the area where we lived and eventually just stopped talking to me. Somedays I wonder what lies she told people about our friendship, but then I realize that she doesn't keep people in her life long enough for it to really matter.

After our friendship went silent, I began to advocate for myself as a disabled person and really stop masking and pretending to be normal to fit in. It was like taking boulders off of my shoulders, and helped me strengthen my bonds with the people who were my real friends. The last few years of my life have shown me the reality of friendship - it needs to be built on a foundation of honesty to really survive. I've had a regular therapist for the last four years who has also helped me to better recognize red flags and how to talk about them in relationships worth hanging on to. I would much rather deal with brutal honesty that helps me grow than lies that keep me buried in denial. Growth requires honesty, with yourself and the people you love.