The stigma of “fake news” reporting

When a sitting President constantly berates journalists just doing their jobs, it hits hard—on me, at least. I don’t feel there is a place for me anymore as a reporter although I used to be good at it.

My mind can play tricks on me and then I live in a waking nightmare. I did not report when in those states. I just removed myself.

So now we have a huge cancel culture and I am the first one to be jettisoned under any circumstance, always. My father said to me if it’s a choice between you needing to go or the housekeeper, you know who goes. I said, yeah, me. He said that’s right. I wasn’t living at home anyways then.

So that’s family. Why would anyone else be any different?

I am expendable and I know it. So that’s that. Sometimes reality is tough to face. That’s okay. I do have a strong will to know the truth. And facing it in myself even if uncomfortable, is just what I do.

I was given the assignment to write about what the idea of fake news means to me. So I have. I didn’t start my blog on stigma because I thought it would be or should be popular. I did it as an assignment.

No one really wants to read about what it’s like being mentally ill from priest sex abuse. Why should they? It’s not pleasant.

End of story.

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