A friend you can trust– a rare commodity.

I have to agree, and I hate to do it. I’ve come a long way in healing from last summer’s debacle. I’ve opened up, found friends in unexpected places, and really begun to enjoy socializing. Don’t get me wrong: there are still moments when situations terrify me, but I am feeling much more socially adept nowadays. I’ve found my stride.

And yet…

Trust? Trust anyone? Nope.

Obviously, there are levels of trust. I trust people in the basic sense of the word. I know they won’t run me over in a parking lot, and hopefully wouldn’t scream obscenities at me in a play cafe. I know that people in my life have good hearts, or they wouldn’t be in my life.

But will I ever trust anyone again?

No.

For the longest time, I was sure I would heal. But the truth is that I am utterly terrified of being close to anyone, and it’s started to seep into every area of my life. I don’t get my hopes up for things. I let disappointments slide past. I make watered-down plans instead of letting excitement build. I’ve become passive and impenetrable this past year.

Closed off. Smiling, enjoyable, and downright hilarious…but locked.

I suppose it’s to be expected. I had my privacy betrayed and my secrets played out publicly by the last person I trusted. Hell, I even had fake secrets laid out for the world to judge under a guise of compassion and outreach: things that weren’t even remotely true, like suffering from extreme mental illness and memory loss.

Those were my rewards for trusting someone and allowing them to get close to me: utter betrayal and lies. And no, despite the warnings, I never thought it would happen to me. So if you think for a moment I would allow myself get even close to letting that happen, you’re wrong.

There are days when I want to drown myself in solitude, to move so far away from civilization that I would need to forage for my own food. There are days that I wish I could live in the company of myself alone, forever, because I am the only person that I want to trust.

Ever.