abuse

Last night, someone abused my friendship and generousity.

I hate it when this happens.

Against my will there is a forced shift on my perspective in life, an unwanted off-kilter weltanschauung. In that prolonged moment, the world is reduced to stark black and white, with shades of gray standing in for the hues of doubts and aspersions. Suddenly, it seems futile to be kind to anyone, much more to care or trust someone.

Whenever I experience this, whenever a laconic sourness is thrust into my spirit, I close my eyes and seek for something inside me that can anchor me against the unpleasant wave that threatens to engulf me, cap-a-pie.

But it passes, of course. It always does.

And then, drenched but alive, I pick myself up and decide that the act of one person will never influence how I deal with people in general, that there will always be people who will abuse kindness but that there will always be people for whom the act of kindness is like a breath of life. And that there will be no explanations, no exegesis, nothing to fully explain or justify why what happened happened apart from the standard old chestnut about vagaries: Things just happen. Some people are assholes.

Life goes on, of course, but goddammit, I feel so fucking tired.