The damn idiot.
She tried to explain that even helping just one person made charity and volunteerism “worth it.”
I darkly disagreed, because I am dark. Of soul and temperament, like the dark desert night of a new moon. She tried to justify generosity but I would have none of it. I reasoned that people are rotten. All people. Rotten to the core. If you entrust any inkling of faith in people, you will invariably be disappointed. One-hundred percent of the time.
People are rotted shells of coexistence eking out a disgraceful and inflated journey of significance. People are egotistical canards marching around like self-righteous saints.
Don’t trust them.
People deceive, they are surreptitious sneaks, they are lazy, they are stupid, and they don’t want to experience pain or displeasure in such voracious degrees that they will literally do whatever it takes to avoid such discomfort, even if it means sucking the life out of their most cherished possessions.
I explained this is why I am a misanthrope. People are not worth your trouble. You may help one person today, and perhaps that person may even turn around and help another person tomorrow, but let me tell you something: the chain will break and this auspicious metastasizing of charity and goodwill is doomed to die quickly and abruptly when allowed to exist independently in this large diseased Petri dish called humanity.
Humanity is incapable of sustained gloriousness. Our innate nature eventually asserts itself over the whole of civilization and years of timeless generational turnaround. You cannot keep mankind’s filthy heart down! Your dreams of virtuosity and ethereal optimism are no match for the putrid calling of man’s self-absorbed striving to enlist a life of absolute and mundane pleasure and sloth.
People are up to no good. All of them. It is our nature to tear down the columns of civility in order to preserve our own incapable and meandering existence. People will lie and construct myths and spin reality and act as low as the slimiest reptile in order to get the upper hand.
I’m demoralized. Beaten down. I am a bad man who surrenders no succor. I am a maelstrom of dashed expectations. When one expects too much, one reasons too little.
People are not worth it, I concluded. The dazzle of charity still gleamed in her eyes. Perhaps I gave up too soon.