Frankly, I can't properly lie unless it's a do-or-die situation. It leaves me feeling paranoid when I do, as the truth always has a way of kicking my ass.

But that isn't true.

The one person I can lie to is myself, well enough that I can no longer distinguish reality from the lies I spun. 
I can't tell if my parents are awful people or if I'm just a spiteful, vindictive prick.
I can't tell if my feelings are valid or if my pick-me habits have returned.
I can't tell if I chose this path in life or if I'm trapped with the consequences of my actions.
I can't tell if my friends and family genuinely like me, or if they just put up with me.
I can't tell if I'm a half-decent human being or the scum of the earth.

We truly are unreliable narrators.