My mother told me never to trust a guy who says, “Trust me”. At the time, I was maybe thirteen years old and there were not a lot of guys trying to tell me anything at all. Of course, by the time a boy finally told me to trust him, I had fully resolved not to be an idiot and do it.
Rejecting the “trust me” guys proved to work in my favor. I learned that if a guy had to say it to begin with, I was obviously showing him that I thought he was full of it. And if my first, gut reaction toward someone was to distrust him, then it was for a good reason.
Since then, I have rarely trusted anyone who told me I should. This goes for wannabe boyfriends, friends with scheming ways, anyone who said, “No, I didn’t drink that much. I can drive fine,” and every car salesman I ever laid eyes on. Many times, it kept me from getting screwed, either literally or figuratively. No ill-given trust meant no regrets later. This is not to say I never made a mistake, but usually my mistakes have happened because I made a poor choice, not because I let someone make one for me.
Here is the problem. I trust people who never ask to be trusted. The usual scenario begins with someone telling me some confidential piece of information about their life. People tend to do this often. It could be something that simply makes them human, a small fault that seems massive in their own eyes. Other times it is a serious secret. I have held onto pieces of information that could ruin lives if shared. If I were the kind of person who liked to destroy lives for fun, these secrets would give me the fuel to do so. Instead, whenever someone has let me in their confidence, which happens more often than not, I give them a little something of mine in exchange. The more they tell me, the more I give back. Sort of a tit for tat, to let them know I would never hurt them since if I did they have something with which to burn me back.
Recently, someone I really, truly trusted lit some serious sparks that pretty much set my ass ablaze. The arsonist did not even bother to use the fuel I had readily given to her. Instead, she lit up others with straight up lies. My attempts to put out those fires were met with further fanning of the flames. I was burnt to the ground.
So, should I turn around and pour kerosene on her life and light a match as revenge? My first thought was to do so; to do unto her what she had done unto me.
That is not how it was meant to be. That bridge has burned, and although I did not come away unscathed, I will live. Yes, I might be more reluctant to give out my stories and secrets. No, I do not want the people who still love me to feel like they cannot trust me. My behavior in a bad situation shows what kind of person I am.
I do not want to have to say “trust me”. I want to be the kind of person who shows others that they can.
Trust me, this is what I have to do.
