Hello. 

I have no sense of purpose in my life anymore. Recent events have caused my entire existence to come to a screeching halt, like road runner reading a sign by the side of the road. And there I stand, reading and reading, unable to do anything but contemplate the actions which have led to this moment. I am new to this forum, and so I ask you forgive me if this sounds long winded or ranty. I joined this forum because of a need to be understood, but also to understand; I realised that no matter how much I talk to the people in my life about my problem, they'll never be able to understand. Because the fact of the matter is they are ignorant outsiders looking in - it might as well be dogs trying to understand the behaviour of a cat. So, to you I say, hello, fellow cats.

Please allow me to provide a few facts about myself (I promise these are all true. The irony of saying to a support group for liars is not lost upon me): I am a white homosexual male, aged 20. True. I study classics and archaeology at a well-reputed institution. True. I am from a diverse background, an equally diverse upbringing. True. I have hurt many people, both friends and family, repeatedly, through my behaviour in the past and present. True. I am a compulsive liar. True. In the course of writing this post, I have had to stop myself from including and/or omitting information. True. 
The self-vigilance required in order to make this a truthful account is immense and feels like its draining my energy. I'm sure you're able to empathise with that feeling. The idea that you have to always watch yourself, constantly have an internal fight between the effortless lie and the hard truth. It's almost as though you're a prisoner in your own mind, but also your own corrections officer. For most, the truth sets them free, as they say; for me, and I'm sure for many of you, the truth keeps me locked up. And just like a prisoner, returned to society and assuring everyone, but none moreso than himself, that he's changed, I'm a repeat offender. I guess it's too easy to do the proverbial time. As they say. 

The most recent "offence" is why I am here right now typing this, and why you are (hopefully still) reading this. Approximately two months ago, I met a young gentleman, whom we'll simply refer to as H. In the spirit of full disclosure, I'll add that I met him on a popular gay hookup/dating app - incidentally, I've actually met all my past love interests on said dating app, never having gone the "traditional" route, but that's a conversation for me to have with my therapist - and we spoke briefly on there before exchanging phone numbers. I did not meet up with him immeditely, as I was away at a family wedding. When I returned, I had agreed to meet up with H and we were going to have a study date. He came over to my place, we settled in my room, and we began to study. Yes, I know, a rather intimate first meeting, not to mention date. Within hours, we were cuddling and it sparks had lit - I was captivated by him. By all accounts, H is a fantastic individual: speaks more languages than I do, well-read, well-dressed, quiet and shy but not to the point of letting himself get walked over, a graduate of an even more presitigious institution than mine and finishing up his second masters in international relations, whilst being a freelance journalist. We liked the same music, the same films, the books, the same food, etc. Need I go on?

Then commenced a period of what is known as "hyperfocus dating", which is something common to people with ADHD, such as myself. HFD is characterised as an intense start to a romantic relationship, wherein the person with ADHD will place the new interest at the top of their priority list, to the potential detriment of other responsibilities. And this is indeed what happened with H. I fell completely under his spell and wanted to spend all of my time, energy, and effort on him. This was not aided by the fact that he was enabling me because he too wanted the same thing. The problem is, my close friendships suffered because I would bail on plans in order to spend time with H, and would then lie in order to cover it up and to avoid being yelled at. I hadn't yet begun to lie to H, but it was only a matter of time, as I was growing comfortable with lying again. We were spending every night with each other, making each other breakfast and dinner, watching films, taking walks, the whole shabang. And I felt happy, he felt happy, so I thought nothing was wrong. Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. I suffer from depression and anxiety, as well as ADHD. Prior to meeting H, I was actually in a very low point, with little self-esteem and self-confidence, and had come close to hurting myself. Now, with hindsight, I can say this was largely due to the fact that I was still recovering from my previous relationship, which I had ended but which had caused me a lot of mental trauma. I wasn't emotionally ready for another relationship yet, but I entered one regardless. 

As things progressed with H, we began to be more honest with each other. H told me very plainly, that he couldn't do dishonesty, it wasn't in him. He could only be 120% truthful, 120% of the time, even if that meant upsetting me or hurting me. And I was both amazed and terrified as I had never been able to be that honest with anyone. So, he opened up to me, and I tried to do so in kind, and to my credit, I did tell him things I had never told anyone else. But the fear began to rule my mind - what if he discovers the real me is appalling and he doesn't want to be with me? What if this, what if that, the rabbit hole had been opened and I was falling quicker than Alice into Wonderland. I was starting to earn his trust because I was telling him things about myself. But what I didn't tell him was my tendency to lie and how unhappy I was with myself as a person. And as you can imagine, the lies shortly began.

The first lie I told him was stupid and ridiculous. We had discussed the issue of pictures and his desire for privacy. He didn't feel comfortable with the idea of me taking pictures of him and showing them to people without his approval. Which is an understandable wish. But in my mind, I was so excited that I'd found someone with whom I was so compatible and so mad about, it went into the back of my mind. I'd taken a snapchat of him and sent it out without his knowledge or consent. All it would've taken was a short "Hey, do you mind if I send my friends this picture of you?  I'd like for them to know what you look like." He would've probably said yes. But instead, I acted in secrecy and lied about it when he asked if I'd been sending any pics of him. He eventually found out, as we were cuddling and someone replied to a snapchat saying "he's cute!". It was a big drama and I cried, but he forgave me and let it go. The niceties resumed and our relationship continued in intensity. My exams came and went, my year at university finished, and as my external responsibilities diminished, my focus on him inreased. There were small lies here and there, about whether or not I'd been to the gym or gone to the shops, but for the most part, I was good. 

Until he went away for two weeks. He had a family holiday with his parents, which he'd mentioned to me, and he was going away for two weeks. At this point in time, we'd been dating all of 5 weeks. Not very much, I know, but it felt like years to us. I went with him to the station, hugged him good bye and then went home. That's when the first incident happened. My best friend, whom we'll simply call T, had also recently started dating someone, whom we'll call W. And, wanting to be a good friend, I decided to take it upon myself to try and get to know W. So I got in contact with him over Facebook, we had a chat, and he soon invited me round to his house to visit. So I took him up on the offer, as he lived in the country side and I live in the city. The next day, I went down to visit W in the country, see the horses, have some beers. Then there was a terrorist attack in my city, right next to the train station I was meant to come into. It was decided that I should spend the night and return in the morning when it was safer. Long story short, I ended up sleeping with him that night. I felt disgusted with myself immediately afterwards. W had instigated it, but I should've stopped him. Even right now, I'm still not sure what compelled me to go through with it. Maybe because I thought I wouldn't get caught. Maybe because I wasn't sure if I wanted a relationship. Maybe I wanted to set myself up to fail. Maybe I was just horny and thought what the hell. Or perhaps it's my deep seated need for validation and approval. Probably a mix of all of them, to be quite honest. H was only gone for a day, and I went and cheated on him. Furthermore, he was worried sick that I might've been hurt in the terrorist attack. W and I both agreed to keep it secret from our respective partners. I felt disgusted. I still do. I hate cheating with a passion. It's been done to me before. Yet, I was able to do it, so blatantly. The train ride home, I felt sick to my stomach. Edit: Not entirely true. That was the second time I cheated on him. I'm only just remembering now (I assume I hated myself so much I repressed the memory) that a week or two after meeting him, I slept with another friend of mine, unable to stop myself or say no. I had had too much to drink and the opportunity arose and I took it. I lied about that, too. 

Soon afterwards, I went to the free sexual health clinic in order to get tested. I hadn't been tested in a whilse and I was having unprotected sex with H, so I thought it best to get tested whilst he was away, confident I would come up clean. I did not. In fact, I tested positive for chlamydia. At this point, you can imagine what happened. The fear of being left because of what H might think of me caused me to hide it from him and keep it a secret. I tried to take the medication secretly without him knowing.

At this point, I feel this post has gone on long enough, so I'm going to try and wrap up the other things I've done in this next paragraph: I sent nude pictures of myself on snapchat, despite telling him that I had stopped doing it; I flirted with other men, despite telling them I had a boyfriend; I made out with someone at a BBQ hosted by a friend and lied to that person saying that it was alright, we had that kind of relationship; I engaged in sexual activity (not full sex) with someone in a night club whilst I was extremely drunk. There's one or two more things, but at this point I feel like you get the idea. 

All of this came to be known to him. I tried to hide it, but he pried it ou of me over the course of three, agonising, sad, difficult days. At the end of it, I felt empty and hollowed. I told him what I've told you now, and recounted every instance where I had lied to him and cheated on him. At the end of it, I simply wanted to die and considered killing myself by throwing myself out his window. A few days later, when I returned his things that he had at my place, he told me there was no chance we could ever get back together, that he felt nothing for me, that the person he thought he was in love with wasn't real, a fabrication, and that I, I was nothing to him. He wasn't attracted to me, he didn't want to hold me or kiss me or hug me. It's like a switch went off in him that just turned everything off. He said he could never look at me the same way again, and so it was best we never saw each other again. He said he wondered if I was a psychopath, because he couldn't see how else anyone could say they loved someone, yet do the things I did. He wondered if I was a narcissist, as well. He wanted to meet in public because he thought I might try and lock him in my place and not let him leave until he gave me another chance. He accused my tears of not being real, that I was simply lying all over again. He couldn't believe a word I'd said. If I'd told him the sky was blue, he wouldn't believe me. He left me with a hug, and said, get better, I hope one day you're happy. But it'll never be with me. 

And so, I ruined what was ostensibly the best relationship I could've ever hoped for. That was about two, three weeks ago now. I have considered suicide multiple times, although I've stopped myself. I've started seeing a therapist, for what good that may do. I barely leave my place, only to go get food from the supermarket or to occasionally see a friend. I've stopped exercising. I've started smoking again. I have desire to do anything, see anyone, go anywhere. I don't want to exist. I have no sense of purpose anymore. This is what lying has brought me. This is what I've brought upon myself. 

Thank you for reading.