Dating a compulsive liar
Think about what the condition is called- compulsive lying. I would compare it to an addiction in a lot of ways.He looked at me and said, “Dude, no one has ever pronounced her name as Lane-uh.” This turned into a conversation about how his sister was, in fact, a total liar. I went home and did my homework — scouring the Internet for clues and calling friends to fact check her stories.Most of her Facebook pictures were stolen from a friend’s Flickr account, all the songs she’d written me were written by someone else, she had never been to Africa, never attended Shmarvard, never lived in Detroit, never lived in Brooklyn, and all the presents she had bought me were apparently shoplifted.Okay, I’m sure most of you know the ending to this badly written movie already, but let me fucking finish because it gets really, good. The fuckery continued and weird things kept happening.The more I learn about this girl, the less sense it’s all starting to make. I was born in 1991.” I choked down my bite of pancake. Lena told me more about her life: the boys she dated, the adventures she’d been on, the places she’d lived, and the jobs she’d had.
After every single one of her friends and family refused to call her “Lane-uh,” I asked her brother what the deal was.She would buy me and my friends presents, write me little poems, and play me songs she had written.I ate up every single poem and song like it was a Cinnabun covered in 14-karat gold frosting. ” I was confused, but brushed it off as a miscommunication — after all, I was pretty drunk on our first date and just assumed I heard her wrong.Every time I tried to intervene and talk to this wayward roommate, she would tell me he wasn’t home or he had stopped his panty thievery.