12/28/2025
My Journal entry Christmas Eve:
I think I know why this feels like the most un-Christmasy Christmas, ever.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas because this is unlike any Christmas we have ever collectively lived through in history.
Part of it is the Santa problem.
We were raised on a myth: that someone good was watching, that behavior mattered, that rewards and consequences were real, that someone powerful cared enough to keep a list and check it twice.
We believed—fully, sincerely—until the moment we didn’t.
And none of us forget that moment.
The quiet realization.
The sinking feeling.
The understanding that the adults were lying, maybe not out of cruelty, but out of convenience.
That Santa wasn’t real, but the system depended on us believing he was.
That moment—that loss of innocence—is America now.
Because we know better.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt, we know better.
We know the country is broken.
We know the people in charge are not benevolent caretakers but convicted criminals, abusers, profiteers—people protected by power, money, and indifference.
We know the list isn’t about who’s been good or bad; it’s about who’s useful and who’s disposable.
And once you know that, once the myth collapses, you can’t just sing the songs the same way.
You can’t pretend the magic is still intact.
We are told the economy is strong while people are paying more for less—spending the same money on less groceries, thinner gifts, and fewer choices.
Families are stretching paychecks that no longer stretch, swallowing shame that was never theirs to begin with.
The math doesn’t lie, even when politicians do.
And all the while, power parades itself in gilded rooms, ceremonial nonsense, petty plaques, planes, ballrooms, hollow symbolism—all ornaments on a rotten tree—meant to distract us from the FACT that the people making decisions are NO LONGER answerable to the people living with the consequences, which is us.
This isn’t a shared sacrifice.
This is extraction, dressed up as inevitability.
It’s Christmas while jobs disappear.
While families remain separated.
While violence—real, sustained, domestic violence—has been normalized on American soil for months.
And none of this happened in a vacuum.
We were prepared for it.
Conditioned.
Trained to look away when suffering was framed as distant, foreign, necessary.
Gaza was a rehearsal, IMHO.
We warned you: f**k, we tried to warn you…if you accept genocide over there, don’t be shocked when the same depth of depravity comes home.
And now, look at us; warehouses as concentration camps on American soil.
And the targets have only widened—from the “worst of the worst” to basically any Person of Color or anybody inconvenient.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas… because fear has replaced safety, and fear CAN NOT coexist with joy.
It’s Christmas while we’re being asked to swallow contradictions so large they should choke us all.
Regime change sold as drug policy, again.
Violence justified as protection.
Mercy applied upward while punishment rains downward.
People who lost everything are told to be patient, while those convicted of enormous harm walk free, pardoned, insulated by power and proximity.
We’re told not to notice the hypocrisy, not to connect the dots, not to ask why the rules only bend one way.
But Christmas.. oh, these damn holidays... lies are hardest to maintain when families are forced into the same room.
The Epstein revelations, not as rumor or conspiracy, but as an open wound the country is being forced to look at.
Not just about one man, but about systems that protected abuse, rewarded silence, and punished exposure.
What’s surfacing isn’t just criminality; it’s ROT.
A growing, undeniable understanding that the United States is being run by people compromised by crimes so grotesque they shatter faith itself.
Convicts.
Abusers.
Pedophiles.
Now, both IN and OUT of the church now.
All the way to the White House.
Period.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas because innocence—the very THING the season claims to protect—has been repeatedly r***d by institutions that demanded our trust.
And yet, perversely, this is exactly why it DOES feel like Christmas in the most uncomfortable way possible.
Because the holidays have always been when the dark things come to light, aren't they?
When families gather and the unspoken becomes too unbearable to contain.
Truth is... “what goes on in this house, stays in this house” has destroyed generations.
The tension at the table.
The silence after certain names are mentioned.
The careful choreography of avoidance.
That isn’t just a family dynamic—it’s now a collective American one.
The secret everyone knows, but will never want to talk about because it’s rude to call out your abuser over turkey.
You take it; year after year.
This country is the same family with generational trauma it refuses to name.
The lies about the Black and Indigenous holocausts.
The lies about class, merit, fairness.
The lies about the election… the lies about s**t of no consequence.
The lies just to lie at this point.
Trauma layered on trauma, buried beneath patriotism and platitudes.
Millions of Americans are walking around with unhealed wounds of their own—assaults, molestations, violations minimized or hidden to “keep the peace.”
Adults who never learned how to be adults because they were taught silence instead of accountability—and then passed that on to their children.
You cannot heal what you refuse to speak, and this nation has made a cult religion out of avoidance.
The Santa myth taught us something though - once you know the truth, you can’t un-know it.
You can’t go back to believing just because belief was comforting.
You can’t keep lying to the kids forever without eventually teaching them that lies.. are love.
That’s where we are now—caught between the lie that keeps things quiet and the truth that might finally set something right.
That is the crux of it.
This doesn’t feel like Christmas because Christmas demands truth before healing.
Because you can’t keep pretending at the dinner table everything is fine while the house is on fire.
Because eventually the children grow up and ask the questions you hoped would never be spoken. Because some of us want to heal.
And now the country is at that table, staring at its own reflections, realizing that pushing the goalposts won’t save anyone.
The myth is gone.
The American spell is broken.
There is no American Presidential ideal anymore than there is a Santa Clause.
There is no unseen protector.
There is only us, standing in the wreckage, deciding whether we tell the truth or keep lying to posterity because it’s easier than healing and rebuilding something real.
And that’s why this year hurts.
Because the country is no longer a child at 250 years old; and this is the first Christmas where we can no longer pretend we are.
The only question left is whether we finally choose to face the truth together—or keep mistaking silence for peace.
And the truth is America is currently being run by a cabal of convicts and corrupt politicians, pedophiles and their protectors.
So, Merry f**king Christmas America 🥂
They are running things—yes.
But they only keep running them because too many people still hope someone else will fix it.
Nothing changes until we stop behaving like frightened children waiting for permission.
Hope without action is just another sedative.
This is the moment America grows up—or doesn’t.
Growing up means calling abuse what it is.
Naming corruption without euphemism.
Protecting the vulnerable instead of appeasing the powerful.
Breaking with traditions that exist solely to keep harm hidden.
It means choosing disruption over decorum.
Truth over politeness.
Solidarity over silence.
So if this feels like the least Christmasy Christmas ever—maybe that’s good.
That means the illusion is finally cracking.
And once the lie is visible to all of us, pretending not to see it is no longer innocence—it’s consent.
Because just like you never forget the day Santa wasn’t real, you NEVER forget who chose order over justice and asked you to absorb the damage quietly…you never forget the people who asked you to endure the abuse in silence rather than risk the discomfort of truth…and you’ll never forget those who preferred your silence over accountability—your pain over their inconvenience.
There is no American myth left to hide behind.
Only responsibility now.
It’s time for US to grow the f**k up, stop waiting to be protected, and BECOME the people who should have shown up for us the way we deserved.
Because WE are the only ones standing between OUR children and what comes next.
RG
12.24.25
