Without exception, I'd rather know an upsetting fact than believe a comforting lie.
Friday, July 25, 2014
Eventually I come to regret every mean thing I've done. Sometimes it takes many years, but as my rage simmers down into the distant, emotional past so too does whatever righteous indignation that justified that anger. I am left then mostly with only a dull sense of the emotional context around the memories of my meanness. Which in turn leads me to regret not dealing with the situation better, not having been a better version of myself.