You can’t get through to people no matter how you try. They’ll always think the worst of you, making up the details in their heads to some how turn sincere, honest and kind gestures into something dark, which you could not have imagined thinking up in a million years.
You can never be kind enough to overcome their suspicions, can’t shed light on that dark interior that always suspects the worst of you.
Kindness to them becomes some kind of wedge to get passed defenses they have spent their life time building.
Early on, you might get an invitation inside, but even that is dangerous business, shaping you into that bull which no matter how you turn is bound to crack of piece of china – and in the panic of noise and crashing, you panic and make it worse, getting thrust out never to get trusted again – the victim of their exaggerated expectations that had painted you into some kind of hero, instead of someone ordinary, making you into a monster because you could not possibly deal with the insanity they claim is yours.
As in the old Rolling Stones song, saints are sinners in that world, and the kinder you are the more you seem like a villain, undermining their world view,
You try to help and they think you are saying there are incompetent. You try to make peace, and they think you’re trying to undo them, plotting somehow to take from them something you never wanted in the first place.
You can’t be kind enough or brave enough or truthful enough. You can only try.