Confessions of a Hypocrite

I have a confession: I am a hypocrite. But luckily for me, I believe that being a hypocrite is only a temporary condition that can be changed in an instant. This is my instant.

In all of the learning I've done though my grief, especially in the past month, the greatest lesson I've learned is about the interconnectedness of the universe. To me, this means that despite any apparent differences, we are all the same. When I see the world this way, it's impossible not to look at everyone with love and compassion. If you are a reflection of me, and I of you, any hurt or blame I cast only paints a dark picture of my own heart.

As I've said before, it's only human nature to make assumptions and judge. I believe our brains processes information this way in order to make sense of it. But it's what I do with those assumptions and judgements that defines me. I can act on them, creating negativity, or I can explore them honestly by turning inward. What about ME makes me think that about you? How have my PERSONAL experiences lead me to this thought? It's much easier to go through life focusing on what's wrong with other people instead of taking the time to see what can be changed within myself.

So as I've confessed, I am a hypocrite. Even after learning these lessons and believing that I've been living by these principles, I still have this ugly need to put certain people down. I've continually made villains out of you and a few people from Blake's life by judging your actions and making assumptions about your character. I find myself getting worked up, sharing this piece of "evidence" or that "fact," trying to somehow show that you are responsible for my pain. I confide in people that if Blake had never met you or if you acted differently, Blake would either still be alive or his death would be easier for me to cope with.  

I realize that to some extent, it's natural for me to do this. However, that doesn't make it right. After a particularly long conversation criticizing you last night, I feel guilt in my heart. It felt uncomfortably good to say some pretty horrible things about you. Although these things feel true to me, it really concerns me that sharing these thoughts made me feel better. How does putting you down make me feel good about myself? The answer: it doesn't.

The temporary satisfaction I felt last night from venting turned into a bad taste in my mouth this morning. Even though I shared this all privately, I wondered how I would feel if you heard everything I said. When I immediately shuttered at the thought of that, I knew what I did was wrong. What seemed like a harmless and cathartic way to release stress, actually hurt the image of who I want to be.

So this is my instant to refocus on the lesson of interconnectedness. If your pain is also my own, I can't inflict more onto you with a good conscience. There's already too much negativity in this world for me to add more on purpose. What does it say about me that I wasted hours spewing hate? Tearing you down? Laughing at your expense? If who I am is a reflection of how I treat you, I really wish that I would have shown you love and understanding instead.

This love and understanding can be expressed though actions, but starts with my thoughts. Although I've been nothing but nice in person, my thoughts show a much darker side of how I really feel about you. If I want to stop being a hypocrite, how I think needs to change. So I'm writing this post as both my apology for the judgements I've made and my commitment to ending the negative thoughts I've devoted to you.

The truth is the things you've said and done have really hurt me. I'm not pretending that I can forget what I believe to be acts of cruelty, but I will not let it color how I see you as a person. We are all struggling with grief, which causes us to act in ways that don't always make sense. I am going to make an effort from now on to start correcting my thoughts to reflect the pure heart I want to have. Although you may not always act in kindness, you are a good person. You are part of me and part of Blake, so I will love you just the same. 

Anger is Not a Primary Emotion

I tried so hard to stay mad at you because I know that will make it easier to move on, but I just can't. Yes, you put my life in danger. Yes, you hid things from me. Yes, you were engaged in activities that I would've screamed over if I ever knew. Yes, yes, yes. I know all of these things. There is no denying these things happened.

Maybe if I had been exposed to your addiction at all it would be easier to hate you. I would have seen you make bad choices, heard you lie, watched you go down this path. I would be able to point to a place in our relationship where you changed, where you weren't my Blake anymore, when I knew that things would never be the same again.

But I didn't know this side of you. At all.

In a twisted way, I feel like you protected me from this side of you because you never wanted me to have to experience all of that hurt (the way I am experiencing it now). But how is it protecting me to lie? To not open up completely? To not allow me the opportunity to help you? In your mission to "protect" me, you've actually made it much harder on me to process now.

It felt so good to finally be angry with you yesterday. I was finally able to look objectively at our relationship and see that a life with you using behind my back (or most likely with me knowing sooner than later) wouldn't be much of a life at all. Get married? Have a family with you? Spend our whole lives together completely in love? Doubt it. This new anger made me feel brave. The anger I felt towards you gave me the extra push I needed to stop watching our videos, get out of bed, and finally do things that had absolutely nothing to do with you.

But at one point I remembered something I heard in one of my psychology classes: anger is not a primary emotion.

Was I really angry or just confused/scared/hurt etc. etc.?

Anger is powerful. Anger is a defense mechanism that spurs action. Almost all of my grieving up until this point has been passive: sitting, moping, crying. Maybe my mind finally had enough of my inaction and decided to mix it up. For once I felt empowered to do something, anything, to move forward in a way that didn't involve Blake.

But at the end of the day a picture popped up on my newsfeed, I saw his handsome face, watched as his other friends commented sweet things, and I realized I can't be angry forever. I can't even be angry for a full day. Anger doesn't serve me, it only fills my heart with hate and blinds me from any goodness. That's not a way to live.