I don't like to lie. Call it laziness, lack of imagination or whatever you think is apt. Of course I had a phase in my childhood (funny how everything seems to go back to one's early years) where I discovered the magic of lies.
My parents asked me something and instead of telling them the truth which would doubtlessly get me into trouble, I served them a convenient lie. Ok, they'd say, and in my mind, I would go 'Huh. That was easy. Who knew.' I, the little child, had won a (however small) battle over the all powerful, all knowing parents. I got away with a lie, I avoided the ugly consequences the truth could entail. In the future, I used this trick more often because it was just so easy. Until one day, they knew. Mum knew. Nevertheless, she asked me. I lied, denied, made up a story, tried to cover up the results. But she knew and told me so.
In the course of my life so far, there were often situations where a (white, grey or outright black, to stay with the colour metaphors) lie would have been the easy way out. Mostly, I chose the truth .. and regretted it occasionally. I'm far from perfect, in fact, I screw up as often as the next person. Disappoint friends, forget appointments, hurt loved ones and generally do things that I'm not proud of.
If it concerns people I don't care much about, I might lie. Missed a dentist's appointment - 'Oh, sorry, I wasn't feeling well'. Late to class - 'Traffic was horrible today'.
But when it comes to the people I feel close to, like, love, I tend to choose the truth. Even if knowing it might hurt them. Even if I leave it to them to deal with the facts. Even if it is something that I'm not proud of and that I'm emotionally detached from.
A few times, I later found out that someone close had lied to me. In retrospect, I questioned the entire relationship. Where else have they lied? Why did they have the impression it would be better to hide the truth from me? Was I imagining the closeness? Finding out about the lie hurt me and made me angry, a lot more than the ugliest truth would have.
So besides being too lazy to cook up a storyline and stick to it, telling the truth is a question of respect in my eyes. Omitting information is a different matter to me though. If something doesn't matter anymore, I don't feel compelled to bring it up. If an answer is bound to hurt me, I will not ask the question. If it doesn't concern me, I don't need to know. If it's in the past, it doesn't influence my present.
(PS: I am well aware that this is not just a question of truth and lie. But since it happened and you asked, I had to be open about it - we have always been ourselves with each other. And I'm insanely sorry about having hurt you.)
