“The most hardened cynics were once the most optimistic idealists”
A lot of the time, I get a lot of grief over a lot of my views. Grumpy, they call me. Depressing, they say. Look on the bright side, they exhort.
Well, I did look on the bright side. Then Real Life came and flipped the lamp off. And only in the darkness was the truth revealed.
Nobody chooses to be this dismissive, this unbelieving, this critical. But somewhere along the line, you notice the masks and hear the unspoken words and discover the sordid secrets and face up to the truth. And you realise the scales have been tampered with, and the standards have been faked, and we’ve all been short-changed.
And you cannot bear it, because nobody can bear the weight of broken ideals, and so you take the fragments and fuse them into a hard cloak. And you wrap yourself deep inside, and you go forth to fight the world, one factual put-down at a time. And the cloak gets tighter and heavier till you forget what it was like without it and you cannot contemplate living unprotected. And so you snuggle in deeper, and make your point a little more forcefully (so that your voice can be heard through the folds). And people look at you, and see you huddled in your cloak, and think you must be a cold, cold person. And you let them, because it proves your point about quick to judge we are.
… but you always hope to find one thing to fully believe in.
You always hope to have some hope again.