iving a lie takes a heavy toll.

Stress, paranoia and depression all work to undermine the life of a man who has built his place in the community with deception.

It’s a terrible life.

I know because just such a man has told me about it. About the medication to help him sleep and work. About the fear of discovery. About the anguish. About the remorse.

Some might argue he deserves every moment of it.

I can’t identify my mysterious caller because I don’t know who he is. He doesn’t trust me enough to say. So I leave it to the reader to decide if they believe his story.

I do.

More than a decade ago, the caller committed a violent felony made worse by a separate drug charge. Along with a few buddies, he attacked a gay man, beating him and robbing him. He had a weapon.

I have no tolerance for such a crime. But when the man admits his guilt and talks about his life, I believe he’s sorry. What I can’t be sure about is whether he is truly sorry for what he’s done or for the way it has haunted his life ever since.

He spent four years behind bars, earning a GED in prison. He completed technical training and learned a skill.

But he couldn’t get a job.

Until he lied on an application.

He got a good job and has been working steadily for more than five years. He’s married with three kids – good kids, he says – and has turned his life around. He says it wasn’t a hate crime and that he has nothing against homosexuals. He says he was just a stupid kid, hanging out with other stupid kids, doing stupid, stupid stuff.

Discovery hangs over his days like a hangman’s noose. He suffers from depression and anxiety and takes medication.

The pills only treat the symptoms. Ultimately, the truth is the only real antidote, but he’s afraid the cure might be worse than the illness.

He’s a felon looking for forgiveness. He says he’s reformed and that his life since getting out of prison is the evidence.

“I know it takes time to prove yourself,” he said. “I’ve shown it. I’ve raised my family. I work hard.”

But he cannot escape the lie that holds him captive.

Who among us would reveal our own deception if it could cost us the job that our family depends on? Would you risk it?

State Sen. Ethan Strimling is chairman of the Criminal Justice and Public Safety Committee in the Legislature. He is an advocate for prison rehabilitation programs and led the effort to reform state sentencing guidelines this year.

“There’s real evidence that shows that people who go through rehabilitation programs can turn things around, but it’s very difficult,” Strimling said. “I understand [this man’s predicament], but I would never encourage anyone to lie.

“But it’s pretty significant for someone to put that kind of thing behind them.”

The stigma of violence and crime, Strimling said, is hard to overcome.

“I don’t know how people shake it. It takes a lot of hard work by the individual and a lot of trust by the community.”

Ronald Fraser, who works on public policy issues for the DKT Liberty Project in Virginia, writes that life after a felony conviction is harder than it should be.

“First, a conviction often means a prison term. But once that debt is paid, and just as the former inmate begins piecing together a shattered life, barriers to finding a place to live and getting a job kick in. Telling felons they are free to rejoin civil life but then placing obstacles in their way is bad public policy.”

According to Fraser, a felony conviction can be used to deny employment in a public agency and in a private business.

“I received a letter from a woman who was in the exact same position from somewhere out West,” Fraser told me. “She came clean and was fired. She hasn’t been able to get a job since.”

There are government programs to mitigate the risks an employer takes in hiring a felon. Tax incentives and access to insurance bonds make it easier, but many don’t want to take a chance.

And then there are people like Calvin Tidswell. The Sun Journal wrote about Tidswell in April. He wove a compelling story about how his criminal past prevented him from finding a job and turning his life around. Soon after the story appeared, Tidswell was arrested and charged with aggravated trafficking in cocaine.

If convicted, Tidswell becomes the poster child for not hiring felons, and his story overwhelms others about people who have overcome their own past.

Bob Mennealy, who serves on the Auburn City Council, has just such a story. He admitted guilt to cocaine-related charges more than 20 years ago. Now he is a popular and outspoken member of city leadership. He still struggles with his mistake, even two decades later.

In March, a political opponent on the City Council suggested the city charter should be amended to disqualify felons from elective municipal office. It was a clear shot a Mennealy.

My caller puts it this way: “I hear people talking at work about felons and how bad they are. But I’ve served my time. I’ve paid my debt.

“Like most people, I want to get to a situation where I’m comfortable. … We’re doing OK, but we had to lie to get there. Don’t know what I can do.

“I want to tell people, but I can’t.”

Fraser says he understands the lies, even while he doesn’t condone them. “After years and years of disappointment, you can see why people would try it.”

Over and over, the caller brings up forgiveness and the many crimes that go unpunished. The difference, he maintains, between him and a lot of other people is that he got caught and was punished while others have escaped justice.

He holds out hope for a pardon, too. But his chances are slim.

According to Gov. Baldacci’s office, even a pardon wouldn’t solve the problem. A pardon formally forgives the petitioner for his crimes, but his record is not expunged and the conviction continues to follow him.

The discretion to grant a pardon rests solely with the governor, but it’s hard to imagine any politician forgiving a convicted gay-basher, robber and druggie, even if he has been clean for more than 10 years.

Back to Strimling and the dilemma.

“I really believe the essence of America is second chances. People need to be held accountable and then need to be given a second chance,” Strimling said. “But if we give second chances, we have to make sure the resources are there to help them rebuild their life.”

Every time I talk to the caller, I can hear the pressure in his voice and the desperation to move on.

“It’s been another day of depression,” he said recently. “If that weight was off my shoulders, then I could live my life.”

“He’s got nobody to blame for this but himself,” Strimling said. “He should go into his boss’ office and tell the truth and have some faith.

“But I’m totally sympathetic. He’s got to find a way to put food on the table. I would hope that his boss would be sympathetic.”

Would you be?

Would I?

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