I was scared to sit still. To stay in. To take a long hard look at myself. If I kept going out, kept drinking, kept running this-a-way and that-a-way, I wouldn’t have to actually confront what I’d become. A fraud, beneath the sequined dress and make-up. A liar who didn’t actually want to lie but kept finding herself in situations where the options were: a) get dumped by your boyfriend, b) lie. Or, a) get sacked, b) lie. Or, a) get kicked out of your house by your flatmate, b) lie. Lying was simply something I had to do to survive.
