My December to Remember II: Day Two
News: journalist publishes inner workings of why Twitter censored Hunter Biden laptop report in October 2020
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I keep getting the feeling December is going to be a very sad month. I woke up sad twice today, once before work, and once after my post-work nap. It’s actually strange, considering I had a good day today. I put a real effort into my appearance, enjoying how I looked in one of my favorite dresses with thirty pounds off my body. Did a lot of laughing with my coworkers on this Jobs Friday. I felt personable and hang-able. I cleaned my entire desk and got a new dry-erase calendar. I even took out each individual key from my keyboard and cleaned the inside.
I covered a lot of ground today. And then I dropped the façade as soon as I got home.
I’ve been tussling with the idea of karma lately. I’m not one of these people who wish bad karma on someone simply because they did me dirty. I don’t care to curse people, they have to live with the choices they make. However, I’ve always been a firm believer in good begetting good, and evil leading to more evil. An evil act on it’s own is never good, but to act like it never happened is even worse. Going as far as to lie and gaslight about it? I’m not sure if a soul could ever recover from that.
And this leads me to the story I want to tell. Well, actually. I can’t really tell it. You’re about to get my own version of a cover up. Or at least a shield from the real, horrible truth. Nearly fifteen years ago, I did something that hurt one of my closest and dearest friends. I can’t repeat it here, I’m far too ashamed of my actions, but let’s just say it was a massive betrayal of boundaries and trust. And worse off, I tried to pretend like it never happened, even going so far as to tell the other party not to tell, making them complicit in my deceit. Of course, they told right away, and all I had was a barrel of excuses, trying to conceal my reasons instead of genuinely confessing the truth.
I have no idea what I was thinking. And I’m sure I shattered all that my friend and I had built since we were kids. We’re still in communication, but I know it’s not the same. And I haven’t brought it up since. I don’t know how. I don’t even know what I’d say. Maybe one day I’ll get my chance, but for now, I’m certainly feeling the effects from what I chose to do. I’m paying my karmic debt, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep up appearances.
I know a lot of what I’m going through is due to the withdrawal from pot. I had a really rough time yesterday and today, trying to find ways to justify hitting my vape pen, thinking “I’ll start again tomorrow” if I can just get stoned and forget about it. But doing that would simply mask the problem. I’ve got to face my feelings head on right now, and live with where all my choices have taken me. It’s time for accountability, as that rug we’ve been sweeping things under has no more safe spots. The carpet is practically hovering on top of all the dirt, so I guess it’s time to actually clean house.
Right now, it just doesn’t make sense for me to hide how I feel at any given moment. I’ll know when things are appropriate to bring up, but I’m not about to act like I’m innocent as I sit on a mountaintop of lies. It just couldn’t be me. I could never live with that on my conscience, knowing I’m a fraud, knowing I’m guilty, and lying about what I’ve done. And yet people do it. Just like there’s people who want to keep playing pandemic nearly three years on. Or who’ll pretend like it’s only one side of the political spectrum who is bad when they’re all a bunch of corrupt jackass wolves in sheep’s clothing.
I’m never out to hurt anyone. I’m alone in this until further notice. I’ll have to live with what I’ve done, but you won’t see a damning exposé drop on me anytime soon. I arrive to the doorstep bruised and battered, not projecting some squeaky-clean image that just looks grimy over time. There’s still much to repent for, but I won’t cover up the process anymore. My conscience is clear. For now, anyway.