Maybe a bit of both.
Recently, when cleaning the garage, my son came across a journal his father started a good seven or eight years before his terminal affair.
I didn't read much of it--really, I just glanced at it because DS insisted he was going to read it to gain insight into his loser father (my words, mostly). Well, that, and it is a cool leather-bound journal, and Trac-fone has the attention span of a gnat; there were only a few pages used, and DS fancied ripping out his father's few entries and purloining it for his own writing.
Reading the paragraph or two that I did cemented the need to expressly forbid DS from reading the journal--I used some sort of blah-blah-blah about privacy and the need to return it to Dad--but my concern had very little to do with that, and everything to do with protecting DS from the insane drivel the journal contains).
Anyway, during the only time of our marriage I would describe as settled and relatively content, he was already living in a parallel universe, where we were "marching inexorably toward divorce," and our kids were "constantly scrapping." (Seriously; this man wrote as though he were a Civil War soldier writing home, the language is so bizarrely stilted).
He was lying to himself years ago. Before ICs, before the shit hit the fan. At this point, I wonder if he ever lived in the same world that I did. I mean, I get differences of perception and all--but we're talking a HUGE departure from what was really going on. Could it be that it was his genuine experience? Sure. It was the experience of a negative, sick, distorted mind.
He bought the story he was peddling. Of that, I have no doubt. He really believes his tales.
He's a liar. And he's delusional beyond belief.
It's really kind of sad. He's got this transcript of a really unhappy life--and it could have been so much different if he'd expended a fraction of the effort he spent validating his lunacy on actions that actually brought him pleasure and improved his life.