Trust Me.

I. Was. So. Fucking. Pissed!

It was well past midnight as I paced around the kitchen island, muttering and cussing under my breath. It was a shame that I am too civilized to scream, but my neighbors were asleep, and the walls thin. I wanted to kick something no, someone. I wanted to throw something. But decided to open a bottle of Pinot instead.

When I was a child, my mother would say, ‘Go ahead, trust me. It’ll be alright,’ I went ahead and nine times out of ten she was right. The bathwater was not too hot, the sandbox messy and fun, the swing exciting as was the see saw. Walking into kindergarten turned out okay. Swimming lessons gave me freedom and confidence. Horseback riding was exciting till I was thrown off the beast. No, I may not have won any awards, but I had fun competing. Yes, I may have swung and missed the ball twelve times, but I made contact with the stupid thing on the thirteenth try. And no, I may not like all green stuff. But I lived through those little agonies.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I walked back to where I had left the bottle.

However, when the doctor said that whatever he was about to do with the syringe wouldn’t hurt, I learned not to believe him. In fact, to this day, anytime anyone approaches me with something that looks sharp, I will be suspicious. The exception might be the hairstylist, until I look in the mirror.

As I poured the wine, I shook my head at the memory of all the botched home and paid-for haircuts in my life. I mean, up till I was seven, Mom would take me to the barber, along with my brothers. Sure, one fifty there was more economical that fifteen at the beauty shop. But think of my budding sense of femininity. Oh, never mind.

We’ve all learned one way of another, that the only secret kept is the one never shared. So, when my bestie promised that they wouldn’t repeat a secret, I should have known that they might not repeat my secret maliciously, but it was inevitable that they would. So, I have learned to hold my tongue.

I took a healthy swallow of the ruby goodness.

Of course, I’ve learned to never believe car salesmen. Any of them. They may not want to lie, but that’s their job. And they are just the obvious ones. Anyone in sales is suspect. I will never ask a saleslady if these pants make my butt look big. If I’m worried about the size of my behind, I shouldn’t buy pants. And I’ve known better than to ask her how long that sumptuous white linen sofa will last. The truth is it will be there long after the red wine was spilled on it

I rested my elbows on the granite surface and groaned while I stretched my lower back. That hurt so good.

I have never argued with my teacher over test grades. I have agreed with and politely thanked the police officer who told me I ran a red light. I’ve never understood why people can’t accept the umpire’s call. No one has ever won that argument. I, of course, agreed with my boss when he told me that I wasn’t working hard enough. These people are always right, even when they are wrong.

I admit that most of my faith in people stems from my experiences with the profession they have chosen, and the tools they use. Phlebotomists would be one example; EMG technicians would be another. I have learned to give my big secrets to my lawyer and to share mere trivial things with friends. “Johnny is not going to law school, no. He’ll be a plumber’s apprentice. We are … okay with that.”

Even through my mother told me to never take candy from a stranger, I happily scarf down whatever the waiter or bartender sets in front of me. And of course, I was warned to never get in a stranger’s car, but I have no qualms about riding with any old Uber driver at two am on a Thursday.

On the whole I was a trusting person. Like everyone else, I made a few mistakes, but nothing that could not be corrected or lived with. I was always ready and eager to make new friends.

Where was that bottle. This is good stuff. Just half a glass, then.

I recognize now that it was not false modesty when someone told me that they were not worthy of me, that they were a lousy person, that they were a coward and a liar. They smiled when they said this, but it may have been the one and only time they were telling the truth.

I put my glass down and thought.

It dawned on me that from that moment on I was the one to blame when I got hurt. I was investing time, energy, and emotions in a relationship that was based on marshmallow fluff. In their mind I had been warned and thus they were in the clear. Since I did not turn away and protect myself, since I willingly stepped into their rollercoaster without a safety bar, I was the one at fault. Because they only knew one way to relate. Using flattery, flowery words, lies wrapped in insincere praise and fiction, followed by running away, hiding, building virtual obstacles when they thought a confrontation might be imminent.

Absentmindedly my fingers toyed with the glass, swirling the stem through the drop of red wine I had spilled.

They had pegged my weaknesses. They knew I would forgive and not hold a grudge. So, when they came back, knowing I’d welcome them, they had no reason to change their behavior. It wasn’t their fault, they reasoned, it was mine. I was the one who didn’t believe them when they told the truth. And they were right, I enabled them to practice their guile, and charm, and use me to stroke their ego while they called me “friend.”

My grip tightened on the glass, while I resisted the urge to drain the wine in anger.

I wanted to hurt them the way they had hurt me. But I didn’t. Because it had been my mistake. When I regained some control, I realized my anger was directed at me. My own naivety, trust if you will, brought me here. With this new insight came the self-doubt, the self-loathing, the instinct to isolate. I felt foolish to have allowed myself to be manipulated. I knew I had to fight my habit to build a wall around myself.

I corked the bottle and went to bed. I had much to think about.

<^><^>

Time has passed, my anger has burned down to embers and while I am struggling to put that experience aside, I must relearn to trust. Even though I am quick to forgive others and overlook their shortcomings, I do not easily tolerate the same faults in myself. I must revisit all the lessons I have been taught and sort through the ones I missed or have forgotten. I must relearn to believe in myself, my judgement, my intuition and calculate the risks of trusting.

I can see now that I must forgive myself for misplacing my trust because I deserve kindness, truth, and friendship. Then I will give myself permission to take a chance, take that hand that is offered and go ahead and share a smile, a meal, a joke.

Ah, there is the half-empty bottle of Pinot. On the top shelf in the pantry. Yes, I think I will have a glass.

Go ahead, trust me. I tell myself; it’ll be alright.