• 2 years ago

I am guilty of telling fantasies to myself and others about my past that are not true. I’m guilty of making up stories and believing that it happened when it was made up. I was confused and distraught after losing my brother and I began to believe things that were not true. One lie became a thousand lies I wrote about in stories and poetry that angered people because they knew I was lying about everything. I wrote poems about my depression of being suicidal not civil rights. I wrote about being schizophrenic and being unsuccessful in my depression poems. I wrote about not being good enough not being accepted excluded in my essays and poetry. I feel really bad sin lying to the public.