Imperfect

It seems that nearly every activist, at one time or another, has conducted an “Op.” Well, recently I had my turn. Recently, it was learned that M.A.F.A had an issue with information going to people who wish to harm the organization.

In order to confirm who the “leak” was, I decided to spoonfeed a mix of false and truthful information. During this time, I decided it was best to keep it quiet. I did this because of the amount of stress everybody was under.

So, I had spoonfed this information. During this conversation, multiple subjects and people were brought up, naturally I went with it. My mindset was to gain trust; it failed in the end.

What I didn’t realize was this, while I was baiting the person, that person was also baiting me. And so, without even realizing it, the intel trained rolled on. Screenshots, that could easily alter meanings, began to circulate. The wrong people had caught a small portion of me attempting to protect a friend, while avoiding making it obvious.

However, the information did come back to me. While some accurate, most was twisted. But, all of this has nothing to do with why I am really writing this article. In reality, I am going to discuss something entirely different.

About a year ago, I had hit some very hard times. As a result, Rosemary Dalton and her family allowed me to stay with them. Although there is a rumor about her “extorting” money from victims, I can honestly say that is a lie.

While up there, she helped me obtain a job with her husband. I did what I could because it was beyond my physical ability, but it gave me some spending money as I looked for further work.

While there, I got to meet dozens of people that she had helped. Dozens of kids called her “mom,” and people, in general just loved her. For awhile, I began to wonder if I lived with a Saint. While there, I felt like I was apart of a family, even if it wasn’t mine.

Because of my time with her and her family, I had made new friends, for me that is a challenge. However, they were all very accepting of me; I felt like I belonged.

My attempt to help her recently backfired in a way that it never should had, in a way I wish it hadn’t. This is apart of being human, make a mistake and own it; that is why I am writing this. Sadly, I did confirm who is and is not my friends. I am not worried about my enemies, most don’t truly know me. My friends, however, meam the world.

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