by Stanley W. Shura

Created on: June 15, 2009

I WAS CALLED "SILLY" THE OTHER DAY...

And I'm still a wreck. How can that be. How can I allow myself to be so vulnerable to the whimsical utterings of another? I am a grown man. I have endured a lot. I have been knocked down many times before and gotten back up. Why is my story not just another cliche' among the "been knocked down, got back up" country song melodramas of human history?

Because it's MY story. It's MY pain. I have the exclusive authority to say unequivocally how very WRONG and hurtful somebody is when they belittle and humiliate another. I have the uniquely poignant perspective of having had my will broken and my sense of security and trust crushed by one whom I trusted, one whom I thought I knew, and one whom I thought knew me. I do not care about the perspective of the person who would say those hurtful things.

Their perspective does not matter. It is borne out of ignorance. Or it is borne out of malace. Or, maybe a little of both. But I do not care where it comes from, because the results are the same. Neither is noble or just or constructive in the least. Therefore, he or she who bears that perspective is wrong. Their actions hurt. And they have no standing.

What hurts is that the utterer believes hers is the higher state of mind - that she is just "being honest" or maybe employing "tough love". I know the air of wisdom put on by those who have no idea of their ill-fittedness to don it. And in their eagerness to play the role of some wisened sage, they are blind to the pain caused by this prideful wrecklessness.

Or, they dismiss that pain as simply "being silly".

Where does that sense of authority come from? How can a person be so confident and so, *SO* wrong? And why the hell do I care so damned much? Why do I surrender my serenity to the control of somebody who has, ironically, demonstrated precisely why they do not deserve it? Where does this constant need for others' approval come from?

Does it come from the bitterly ironic paradox of a past that is rife with those same others having been similarly abusive? Does this bespeak a hellacious catch-22 wherein the cruelty of others CREATES this insatiable thirst for their kindness? Does moving on to a life of self-sufficient strength and dignity mean foresaking the humanity that should unite all of us? Could I be wrong about this? Am I truly silly by wanting the warmth of acceptance?

Could I be THAT ignorant? Or that weak? Or that vulnerable? Or could it be that I am, for better and for worse, simply THAT *human*?!

How silly of me.

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