It astounds me just how ignorant I can be of the hurt i have caused those i have at whatever time counted myself closest to. I find myself thinking i understand, thinking i did well to minimize the damage, and maintain the truth, but that the truth gets minimized, and the damage gets maintained in its fullest potential. I do not often hurt on purpose. I strive to do the very opposite. I do not want to be a vindictive man, but a man of forgiveness and mercy. I find that I , in my own strength am capable only of so much mercy and forgiveness giving, that at the ends of my strength, the mercy and forgiveness run dry, while people's need to be forgiven infinitely continues to grow. I find that in such cases, i am in direct combat with my emotions, and with , simply put, myself. I want to forgive, but i do not want there to be no punishment or repercussion to action. And so, opting for such a thing as is called grace, i pray, and one by one, i put emotions to rest. Insecurities of my own manifest and must be killed. I fight. And i pray.These two things are synonymous. I attempt to make recompense, and where i see my own minimizing of truth, in hindsight, set it to it's full nature, bluntly, and plainly, no matter the pain it brings. I am truly sorry that it brings pain. yours, and any, and many others. I only seek as best i can to right the wrongs i become aware of in myself. And yes, sometimes i am guilty of seeking loopholes, roundabouts, or escapes. I will not shy from this fact. I will, note, however, that i often need be made aware of these. For my constructing them is done with so much cunning, and so much stupidity,as to blind myself in both knowledge and deed to their existence. On occasion i taste an inkling of an excuse, and sometimes i am strong enough in myself to face it. Other times, without being confronted, i run from it. I chalk them up to insecurities or uncertainties, over analyzations and things i cannot at all bring any help to.I would ask boldly, that if you see any in specific, you will not for your own hurt, though likely being substantial, shy from me , rather, bring them to light, and give me life in the opportunity to reconcile my own beliefs to my actions. I have found lately that i have a struggle many men have. Esse quam videri- to be rather than to appear. My seeking, my willingness, essentially arises from a quest after authenticity at all costs. If i am not real to myself, and to others, what value can I, or my relations have? I must be real with myself, and with my God, if i am to truly know him, for in knowing myself, I may understand how I relate to my savior. I am glad to finally begin to see the edges of good qualities i have only before been able to imagine myself as having - even if i have had them all along. They , in me, have always seemed imaginary, something to comfort me of my complete depravity. Some slight beginnings of love to alleviate my sufferings of self hate - whether for my actions or my form. I have found my alleviations outside myself, and clung wholly to them.I can now be aware of my complete depravity, and allow grace not only to be applied by Christ himself to me, but apply it to myself, as much or more than i have managed to apply it to others. I do not contend for the opportunity to hide, but for the opportunity, the courage, and the strength, to show myself, and to be known to myself, others, and God. I have long gone about this in ways i thought apt, a plethora of ways i have discovered to be thin veneered self medication. Whether by substance - or by using my actions, separate. By using the very chase of authenticity as an excuse to numb myself from the crime of my identity.I am no crime. Though I am bought at the price of those crimes i have perpetrated, and those crimes that i will inevitably perpetrate - the cost is the blood of the most loving and most beloved. It is paid, and i , being bought, must not any longer appear as the essence of my crime, nor in the essence of penance. I am free to behold my identity separate from my depravity. I am free from sin that has died in me. My value has been uncovered. I am as a jewel, found smudged with dirt, in need of being formed and cut. The dirt has been washed free. I shine. Facet after facet comes into existence, while rough edge after rough edge begs to be spared and clings to being.