Everyone lies sometimes, Candice would justify to herself.
Candice, however, lied a lot. About everything. Every publicly known aspect of her life was a fabrication.
She had lied herself so far into corners that those corners became her home. More parts of her persona.
She lied about horrible things that had never happened. Had they happened, they would have explained her behavior, and she felt that giving answers was important. She felt it was important for everyone to have some justification to grab onto when they tried to be in her life.
“It’s okay,” Candice would imagine them saying, “She can’t help it.”
She lied until she believed it all herself. Until she could taste and feel and smell each memory as though it were happening in that moment.
It was easier that way. To make the lie truth.
Because if it were the truth, there was an explanation. Not just for everyone else, but for her as well.
If it were the truth, it would be okay that her world pressed in on her.
People would understand when she broke.