Well, 24 hours since yesterday's post went up. 24 hours since the bombshell. And the world is still here. And my load isn't any lighter. Well, maybe in some regards. But I come here full knowing that how any relationship to anything else hereafter is entirely dependent on how I play my cards with this post.
A grandiose statement? You could say that, but I'm not going to. So much of my heart and identity was poured into yesterday's post. So much was represented of what I value or cherish, and what other people value and cherish, and so much that needed to be protected. Sensitive issues we're dealing with. Explored tactfully yet methodically. And it all ends with the discovery of a great secret, that a very dear friend was not himself throughout all your period of knowing him-- and then exposing that secret to the world.
So, no. I don't think that there's anything grandiose in that statement at all.
I was torn somewhat, of course. Double guessing myself at least. Thinking about it, praying about it. Maybe I'd split the post up into two parts, allow some breathing room and a separate entry for the pretty parts from the ugly parts, and only share the pretty and if anyone follows up and discovers the ugly it's out of my hands. Until I realized that the secret was going to come out anyway, two parts
to my post or one. Whether I'm part of the coverup or not. Could've
used my powers for blackmail; now I guess I'll have to make my money
through parents paying me to keep away from their children. Might as
well get it through with; might as well follow through with my promise
of treating the subject "holistically." Resolved myself to it; things
are a lot easier once you've resolved yourself to them, as you start
making excuses in favor of your own decision.
It had been such a pretty piece of writing, such an apt breakdown of the unresolved tensions inherent to the existence of the culture, the FCHHM YM program, which I'd labored so very carefully on for such a very long time. Secrets come to light, though, and I let them- help them even. It's probably going to prevent the post from marketability, share it down with the gals on Facebook, spread it to the families of missionaries there: oh isn't this such a lovely article doesn't it explore the subject so profoundly hit every nail on the head-- sorry, none are going to share it now and none are going to be able to share it, it's tainted product, touches too many sensitive nerves too darkly; it's going to mar too many reputations and bring down too many culture heroes.
Which was far from my intent, but it would be in vain to try to wage arms against the possibility. I was shaking, when I put the pieces together. (I'm shaking now a bit.) I tried shaving, but I didn't trust myself with a safety razor. Eric Larson, the "fun kid great kid," IS "Son of a Swede," the ex Mormon, who left the mission because by the time he was on it, its goals and values were not ones he shared. He stood up for what he believed, and as much as I can say "we never knew thee," I could never disrespect a man for that. If any of this sounds too apologetic, it's because I don't know whose eyes could be on this. I don't blame anyone for what they've done...
The mind of anyone else is an enigma. Strike out that, "of anyone else" and that's true as well. I don't mean to betray anyone's trust. None was placed in me, and that helps. The decision to go public with my discoveries was still probably the most emotionally straining decision I've had to make in my life.
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