If You Believed the Lie, It is not the Liar’s Fault
My belief was not about him or his lie. My belief was about me and my perception of myself. Are we becoming like that segment of Trump supporters who hate the other side so much that they’d accept the blatant lie out of spite?
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?