I used to believe that humans are inherently predisposed to do good. I no longer do.
This was the result of the loss of one of my oldest, closest friends years ago. I believed we were brothers. I had his back, he had mine. I’d taken care of him through a lot of his troubles. He was my sounding board, the person I’d talk to when I was lonely, frustrated with life, excited or bored. We went on countless adventures together. As we aged and each took on responsibilities, we spent less time together but still kept in touch through phone and the nascent internet. When we did have time to meet, it was like we’d picked up where we left off. I don’t have any brothers – he was as close as I got to one. Or so I assumed, until he disabused me of that notion.
The details are unimportant, but one fine day he stabbed me in the back for personal gain. He got what he wanted. Cost: 18 years of friendship and my life shattered. It took me a very long time to get to a place where I can say I’ve recovered, but my faith in humanity will likely never be restored.
Never be vulnerable. Trust no one.