This business about lying, hmmmmmm, that all too famililar place in our lives. I still don’t quite get why telling a fib once in a while will hurt anything. I mean so I tell a few lies here and there, even to myself, but it’s only to myself. The fact is, it wasn’t
just a few lies here and there or even just a few to myself. In my active addiction I told lies all the time and over the stupidest, absurd stuff. I couldn’t help myself. It was as if I was a ball of yarn and I was unraveling all over the place, nothing but yarn everywhere, criss crossing over itself time and time again. I couldn’t even remember who I told the last lie to in order to keep all of the lies straight. I needed a zipper over my lips to keep me safe. I felt so ashamed. Then I found recovery which DEMANDED rigorous honesty. You know the type, the “I can’t bullshit myself any longer honesty”. The one where
denial doesn’t work any more. You know that type. The type my sponsor would
never let me forget. That’s the one. I could always try to lie to myself, no one would know, I would and that was the problem. Once I hit recovery, miraculously all the lying stopped like a dead end road. For the first time in my life, I was being accountable, responsible, reliable and rigorously honest where love and understanding don’t know from lies, only honest living. A life where joy and happiness are the norm verses the chaos of lies. A life where rigorous honesty is the foundation of my recovery and helps me stand tall, look in the mirror and admire the reflection staring back. And that’s why I can’t lie.