A friend loves, always.

I’ve been somewhat sullen lately, I must admit. It has happened again – I trusted someone and he’s shown his true colors. I have lost someone I thought to be a friend.  He could have been a comrade, but turned out to be a mercenary.  Worse, he doesn’t know (or can even fathom) what he’s done.  I offered to buy him breakfast, confronted, and was met with gaslighting and passive aggression. He didn’t even thank me for paying the bill for the cup of coffee he did help himself to. I suspect he does not know that I have a great deal of experience interrogating people – spotting the textbook evasion of the narcissist isn’t difficult. I could’ve had the argument, but I know not to argue with a drunk – or with a narcissist. So, I have forgiven him and decided to move on, but he’s so unaware – it’s business as usual for him.  I want him to read this – but I will not (at this moment anyway) offer it.

A friend of mine once coined the term, ‘a-clue-istic’ to describe such men; men who are unaware of the faults they have, but clearly think they see them in others.  In some cases it moves beyond unawareness to action – bullying: They wander about, roaring like a lion seeking consciences to bind. 

I have forgiven and will (of course) forgive. Trust, however, is something else. 

I’m a bit snobby I suppose, but the little church ghetto he’s part of foments his sort of behavior.   Ethically, dogmatically and socially cauterized and insulated from challenge leading to growth, he is part of a circle which is blithely unaware of the horde outside the walls of their rarified ecclesial buttress.  

Even though I believe I’ve been clear, day to day, it is business as usual. I’ve had to distance, to keep things superficial. Again, there is little if any trust that remains. 

Am I the problem? Surely. Admittedly.  I am a free conscience who treats others that way as well, and expects it in return. 

“I won’t be wronged. I won’t be insulted. I won’t be laid a hand on. I don’t do these things to other people, and I require the same from them.”

John Wayne, in The Shootist

I’m extreme in this, and therein is my problem.  Violations of this ethic vex me and I have trouble forgiving when they happen. But I’m aware, and I am past 490 times and (yes) still counting.