Contempt.
All my life I denied that I despised people; I despise them with
all my heart. You cannot imagine how refreshing it is to finally admit to
others and oneself that people are utterly contemptible.
When I murmur it to myself in times of desperation,
it is as if I have shed a great amount of refuse,
the weight of several people.
I hold them in contempt, I say, and then, inexplicably, entirely on my own,
I begin to love them, as if, having been bitten, I am cured, my blood transmuted into serum.
I cannot even begin to explain why this is so.