When being a pathological liar is the least of your problems

 Not all lies are created equal. It's one thing to tell somebody that look really cute, no their sweater is not ugly at all, this is the cutest they've ever been. It's a whole different ballgame, heck in a different country altogether to claim that you're all prepared for administering the country, you know exactly whatever is happening everywhere, the crowds were the largest everyone had ever had, you have it in good authority that you're the most popular person ever even more popular than jesus or god and you know if for a fact anybody not agreeing with you is a liar and a hater, and that the elections were unfair and fraudulent even though you can't produce any evidence of it despite being asked by the courts for a thousand times.

Some people are pathological liars, goddamn pathetic though with pathology one would imagine they can be helped, because a sick person cannot be faulted for lying. Though maybe at some point they need to take responsibility of...something...eventually, because you can use your illness as a defense for doing shitty things once or twice, but that cannot sustain forever. Eventually you look like a fool, become a social pariah, and people don't want to deal with your bullshit anymore, because it's so goddamn tiring, they can't predict what you'll do next or say next, and evaluate the costs and benefits of knowing you.

The costs are obvious, you're an unreliable piece of shit who cannot be counted upon to do anything at all, you work stands for nothing, you will say anything literally anything that'll get you out of a situation, your promises are vain lies, your commitments hold no water, and your memories are highly suspicious and meaningless. It's like you're a bot who randomly blabbers sentences barely held together, and expects to pass that on as a human personality. Oh don't forget the random outbursts, they are quite confounding and stresscausing to the near and dear ones as well, when you come up with the bizarre ideas everybody knows won't work, but since you've uttered it out of your filthy mouth there's no going back, you try to stick to it for as long as you can until it directly contradicts reality. Then you literally go against reality, conjure up alternative reality, a dream fictional world that depends on your fickle fables to hold it together, which is not saying a lot. You're no different than a goddamn mad man, and your friends and family, the acquaintances think maybe you should be in a house, a house with closed windows and doors, and set time for eating, people dressed in white to take care of you. And not in a house that is painted the color white on the outside.

The benefits are...dubious, again, no matter what you claim or what people might tell others. You're in position of some power, which you've leveraged to great personal benefit, but it's looking more clearly like you don't care about literally your own self and the nearest and dearest ones and they too it's unclear, are you a robot, people wonder, because otherwise the most evilest of people would at least do favors and return compliments etcetera. How did you make through so many years in this world without causing yourself harm or putting yourself in danger, they wonder. Nah, I'd rather not, and they run away.

You become desperate, you babble and you cry, but they shut you up, they tell you sorry bub it's time to move out of the nice house, go anywhere else but here, so you're all packed up like a fatass rat, running away from the dogs, into your tiny little corner, all cold and wet, unwell and unable to speak anything, and you're still blaming everybody else, every single person in the world who's not you is responsible for your sad pathetic unenviable position, and you'll be out for revenge, you think to yourself. But Oooo look, butterfly, ooo it's flying there, and aahhaha what's this sweet smell, it's incredible, you don't have the attention span.