My name is Zach, I am 18 years old, and I am a liar. I live (and have always lived) in a small rural town in a southern state. I tell everyone I'm from Pennsylvania, which is a lie. I don't know how this particular lie started, something to do with wanting to be more than a country boy I suppose, but it's been in circulation since I was in 7th grade. I even purposely change my speech pattern so that I sound like a Northerner, and I happen to be good at it. I'm good at all different sorts of lying. I tell people I'm half-Jewish. I am not. I don't even have a base reasoning for this one, just a lie that I have kept up for years. For so long that it almost seems true. I make up imaginary Jewish stereotypical relatives that come to "visit" every now and then, what actually happens during these times is I suffer from minor breakdowns and have to seclude myself. I have never, until recently, been affected by this lifestyle. I merely just accepted it and continued on my way. Now I realize and feel the emptiness of it all. But there is nothing I can do. A main reason behind these lies, I'm sure, is an inability to handle others thinking badly of me. Even though, through my lies, my facade is one of uncaring. It's actually rather ironic. Also, I am in love. I worship the ground she walks on, and she loves me too, I think. We have never actually told each other that we do. But that's the thing; she doesn't love me, she loves who I pretend to be. I want to come completely clean to her, but I cannot. How could I? How would that conversation start out, hmm? "I am a liar?" And even if she does accept all of this - which no person would - I am not even sure who the real me is anymore. Nathaniel Hawthorne once said "No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which one is true." These words could not mean more to anyone than they now mean to me. I am suffering from a Peter Sellers-esque breakdown. That is, all the people inside of me, that I pretend to be, are imploding. I am left with nothing but the shell that housed them. I find it hard to provide genuine emotions, often I find myself merely imitating other people's. It's not that I feel nothing, I do. I just don't seem to feel in a way that is satisfactory to the mainstream. Suicide seems a logical out. I do not fear death, the actual out, but I do fear the unknown that lies beyond it. A vengeful, angry God and his irrational, sadistic torments are my greatest fears. But did he, if he exists, not make me like this? Did he not deprive me of what everyone else seems to have? God, as you might be able to tell, is an unsettling idea to me. If there is a God, does he not deserve a single thing other than uttered blasphemies? But I digress from that subject, it is not one I wish to open for debate or angry responses. I do not have a plan, I don't have a set date, but suicide does seem to be becoming more and more inevitable. I must find a way to bring closure to my fractured psyche, or I am going to kill myself. An act of final rebellion against myself and against a Higher Power. I am not romanticizing death, I fully admit that I do not know what will happen if I were to kill myself. I know it will end, I will not be able to see everyone come to my funeral and "feel sorry for me," and I don't want to. I want a way out.