Lying and Deception

Lying and deception are not symptoms in the classical sense. You won't find them on a blood test; no imaging reveals them. And yet every lie inscribes itself in your body — as a quiet tension in the jaw, as shallow breathing, as that pull in the stomach that won't stop once you have something to hide.

Perhaps you know this: you say something that isn't quite true — to avoid trouble, to protect yourself, to secure something that would otherwise escape you. Or you withhold something you should have said long ago. In the first moment it feels like a solution. Later — sometimes years later — it feels like an open bill that your nervous system keeps paying.

Deception is the bigger sister of lying. It begins where a single act of evasion becomes a construction — a building of half-truths that has to be maintained so it doesn't collapse.