When do you begin to trust? — Leigh
Trust has always been a difficult thing for me. There are those who can trust others with dreams and hopes and aspirations, but they bottle up the badness. I’ve never really had a problem talking about badness. But telling someone what I want for myself, what I dream of … I’m afraid that if I share those thoughts, those feelings, they’ll be taken from me, or something.
I know what it means to lie. I did it often as a child. There were many, many times I did it quite well. So I know how easy it is to alter truth, to fragment it.
I suppose I’ve always been wary of people. Maybe it’s the shyness. Maybe it’s because I’m always expecting them to hurt me. But there’s always been this skepticism. I have to see it, have to hold it in my hand if I can, have to know it, and then I believe.
There are people I trust more than others, like my parents and my brother and a few close friends, most of whom have posed questions for this essay. But, it’s taken me years of knowing them, in most circumstances, to be able to say I trust them.
But even with those years, I am still skeptical.
I question everyone’s intentions, everyone’s words. If someone were to say they didn’t mind me being in some place, didn’t mind me tagging along, I’d think they were saying it to be kind. I’d think they’d rather I not be there, that I not tag along. The answer to your question is, “I don’t know,” because I do not trust myself. And that, like love, doesn’t come from others before it comes from within.