I'm never quite ready for the shock of seeing people whom I know and respect express their deeply rooted wish that I was dead.
Oh, it's never personal. That's part of what makes it so legitimate. If they knew that I was a member of the class of people they're condemning, they would probably bite back their vitriol against me. Instead, it comes pouring forth in their well-intended desire for a safer world.
I find that I can't just explain myself. It isn't that "they don't deserve any explanation," as if I am somehow above those who condemn me. It's that I just can't go through life continually defending who I was in terms of a) what made me who I was, b) how I responded, and c) who I have since become. I've always known I couldn't excuse away my actions, and I'm learning that there is no point in feeling as if I must somehow justify myself to others.
I believe my actions were deplorable, and that I am forgiven for them. I must remember this in the face of what represents, at its root, my own former accusation against myself.
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