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John Spencer Ellis

How can you spot a pathological liar? Ever wondered if someone’s lies go beyond the occasional white fib? Let’s dive into the world of pathological lying – a behavior that’s more than just dishonesty. Clinically, pathological lying (also known as pseudologia fantastica or mythomania) is defined as a persistent, pervasive, and often compulsive pattern of excessive lying that causes significant impairment in social, occupational, or other areas of life. It leads to marked distress, poses risks to oneself or others, and lasts longer than six months. Unlike everyday lies told for gain or to avoid trouble, these are habitual, elaborate falsehoods without clear motive – the liar might even believe them or mix truth with fantasy. It’s not a standalone diagnosis in the DSM-5 but often links to personality disorders like narcissism or antisocial traits. Experts note it’s disproportionate to any benefit, manifesting over years. Spot it in action? Here are two everyday examples: 1 The Chronic Storyteller at Work: Imagine a colleague who constantly fabricates grand tales about their weekend adventures – claiming they partied with celebrities or climbed mountains – even when no one’s asking. These lies pile up, erode trust, and isolate them, but they can’t stop, despite the fallout. 2 The Family Fabricator: Think of a relative who invents health crises or dramatic family secrets to garner sympathy and attention. They might say they’re battling a rare illness (when healthy) or accuse others falsely, creating chaos without remorse or reason. If this sounds familiar, set boundaries and encourage professional help – therapy can uncover roots like low self-esteem. Knowledge is power! #MentalHealthAwareness #PathologicalLying #TruthMatters #itsnotyou #malignantnarcissistproblems

Yu Giroo

I noticed the silence next door. My neighbor is 84. His wife passed away last year. He has no children. His lights stopped coming on in the evening. His blinds stayed closed. He was fading away right in front of me. I couldn't just watch. So I started making an extra portion at dinner. Just a little more pasta. One more pork chop. I walked it over. He opened the door. He looked surprised. He looked thin. "I made too much," I lied. "I hate wasting food. Can you help me out?" We sat on his porch. We ate. We watched the cars go by. We have done this every night for a month. Yesterday, he put his fork down. "I was ready to go," he whispered. "I was just waiting to sleep and not wake up. But then you knocked. Now I have to stay up to see what you cooked." I held back tears. It costs me nothing. A little flour. A little time. But it gave him a tomorrow. The best medicine for loneliness is a knock on the door. Credit - shihaan Hussain /Facebook