I Used To Think That Trust Is Overrated

Friendship and trust is something I’ve been weary of for a long time now. As a kid, I cherished my friends. I’d go above and beyond for them. But some saw that as something to toy around with, and others saw it as a weakness. Eventually, friendships would start with them saying “you can trust me, I promise,” and end with me saying, “I thought you promised.” By seventh grade, the words “you can trust me” were an immediate deal breaker. The second a friend uttered those words to me, I would stack layers upon layers of uneven bricks around myself and be ready with a glass shield. In less fancy words, I would prepare myself for the inevitable betrayal, but I would always end up devastated and alone by the time it came, even though the blow was softened.

In highschool, breakdowns over not being able to trust anyone was a weekly occurrence for me. “You all hate me, you’re out to get me, you think I’m horrible, you’re going to leave me.” Whenever I was around friends, these were the thoughts that filled my head. And whenever I made a new friend, all I could hear was a siren constantly repeating, “don’t trust them don’t trust them don’t trust them.” And I would listen…because that’s how I stayed safe. I expected, I was ready, I was prepared. Shield up and eyes constantly watching for any sign of the upcoming betrayal.

These breakdowns sometimes happened in front of friends. Out of my control, I would ramble about how they were all going to leave me, then I would beg for them to never leave me.

I know, I was a mess.

But being met with the words, “trust me,” every damn time would only enforce my fears. I was sick of it.

But…he said something else.

In eighth grade, my friend Jersey introduced me to a boy named Aaron. He was sweet, calm, silly, and loved by everyone. Him and I didn’t talk much at all, but to be fair, I barely talked to anyone unless they talked to me first. Another one of my self-sabotaging defense mechanisms. We had art class together and I sat a few seats away from him. Next to him was one of the… I guess class clowns of the grade, Wyatt. He was nice too…most of the time. Anyway, I would be working on a project or drawing in my sketchbook while listening to Buzzfeed Unsolved with my headphones on, the volume being low because I was worried that the sound of my headphones would be audible to people around me, and I’d hear Wyatt start laughing. I’d lift my head and see him and Aaron joking around or doing something silly, and sometimes I felt comfortable enough to chime in, and Aaron seemed genuinely happy that I was. At times like this, I knew Aaron considered me a friend. And I considered him one, too. But as always, I was ready.

 I was in one or two group chats with him and some other “close” friends back then. One night, one of those weekly breakdowns started up. I barely remember what I said, but I know I must have said something along the lines of “I can’t trust any of you,” or “I have no reason to trust you.” I knew they were going to say something like, “you can trust me,” so I was already typing out that they were lying to me. But I stopped when Aaron responded with something different.

“Let me prove that you can trust me.”

I was stunned. Speechless. I was so used to hearing the same phrase over and over again, but this was so different. It was like the little gremlins running around in my head telling me to not trust anyone came to a sudden halt. Like, they just suddenly stopped and looked at each other and said, “what do we do now?”

And what did I do now? What was I supposed to say now? I didn’t know, so I said what my own thoughts were saying.

“Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

I remember him continuing to explain that it was okay that I couldn’t trust him, but he wanted to prove to me that he was trustworthy. He wanted me to give him a chance.

I said yes, and that’s where it all began.

Unlike many of my other friendships at the time, I wasn’t required to initiate a conversation with him. He started approaching me and talking to me more. He would text me, asking if I wanted to play games with him. He would ask to hang out with me. It was scary, but at the same time, I was so happy.

I quickly realized that he was keeping true to what he said. He was genuinely making an effort to prove that I could trust him. But still, at that time I refused to let my guard down, even for a second. I was okay with giving him that chance, but I was still too nervous to let that effort work.

I think he knew that, but he never gave up.

Some time later, I had another one of those breakdowns, but to him specifically. No group chat, just him and I messaging each other. It was one of those classic “wah wah I hate myself wah wah nobody loves me,” episodes. I was always embarrassed afterwards, especially since that is literally exactly what I would say. And right after the “nobody loves me,” line shot off my keyboard, he said something that left me stunned and speechless. Again.

“I love you.”

Those gremlins came to a stop again, probably thinking, “what’s up with this guy?”

I don’t remember what I was thinking at that moment, but I know my tears and horrible thoughts came to a halt.

He explained to me how he had liked me for a while now, how he loved talking to me and being around me, how happy he was that I felt comfortable enough to vent about my problems to him, and, most importantly, how he knew it was probably a bad time to say that. But he felt like it was something I needed to hear, whether I wanted it to be from him or not. And he was right, I did just want to hear that someone, somewhere, loved me. And from him, it sounded genuine.

And it made me want to trust him.

Today, I do. It took a while, probably about two years or so, but I came to fully accept that I could trust him as much as I loved him. I could trust him more than anything.

Four years and seven months later, he’s proved to me time and time again that I can trust him. Not only that, but he’s helped me learn how to start trusting again. 

I’m still weary of my friends. I get scared any time it seems like they’re upset with me, when usually it’s just that they didn’t hear me say hi. But because of him, my shield is on the ground now, quite a few feet away from me. And instead of that shield in my hand, I hold Aaron’s hand in mine.

Authors Note: Woah! What's this?! A story that isn't horror AND has a happy ending?!

I know this is much different than my usual work, but I thought this would be the perfect story for this prompt. And, I feel like this story could offer some advice to those who struggle to trust as well.

There will always be a person you can trust. Not because they're trustworthy, but because they proved that they are.