Not sure how to start this, having scratched out dear diary and ladies and gents of the jury…
I’m a conman, I’ve been one my whole life, and now I’m sick and tired of it. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t keep up the facade. I can’t live up to the unrealistic image that I’ve created and sold to all mankind. I am not the person you think you know. Not even close. I’m not sweet nor angelic nor any other positive quality you’d like to attach at this point. I’m certainly not devoid of sin or vices. Nobody is. Yet I feel you’ve come to that sort of conclusion about me. It isn’t real.
I am so angry, where I have no right to be. I am angry at you for believing what I’ve always tried hard to be. The play worked, you loved the act. Now I have the audacity to be upset with the multitudes rather than myself.
Why won’t you believe me now, when I’m telling you the truth, whilst you believed me before when I sold you a pack of lies? If you think I’m lying now, can’t you at least be open to the notion that I could have been lying then. How many people do you know walk up to you and embrace their own true self; admit to being liars, con-men? Why don’t you see it to be true.?
I’m a terrible person. Exaggerating you’d say, but then again, everything is relative. I’ve been a free-rider all my life. All that is good about me I take no credit for. I had no hand in anything, I did not choose my parents, genetic traits, place of birth and upbringing, education nor opportunities that I was presented with and those were many. I’ve been very lucky, or for the religious amongst you very blessed. Surprisingly not as thankful as I should be for this seemingly phenomenal hand of cards that I’ve been dealt. I have no excuse. I’m just terrible that way.
On the other hand, any shortcoming you do see, I take full responsibility for. Only you always choose not to point them out. I feel I could just spend my days slacking, I’d probably get away with bloody murder. You never criticise, never try to improve, while there is plenty to improve on. If only you’d acknowledge that.
You’ve been conned. I take the blame. I’m confessing that sin. Now I’ve told you the truth. The choice is yours. I stand on the verge of something major. Only I’m not sure what it is. Perhaps I’ll finally step up to the plate and own up to my crimes. Or then again, maybe not, it’s not like you’ll turn me in anyways.