A song came on
the radio as I was driving to work this morning. It talked about how if
only the good die young, then he (the singer) would outlast them all.
This sorta goes with my theory of myself, that I have reserved seating on
the party bus to hell (complete with a bbq, and vodka Jell-O shooters, and
bacon, lots of bacon), and have applied, with conscious effort it seems, to be
the intoxicated designated driver for this ride at the end of the world.
But I know that
isn’t really true. If there is a Hell, and no one actually has me
convinced yet that I need to be worried about this, then the concept that I
have been so terrible in this world that I would end up there just doesn’t fit.
Trust me that
this is not me blowing sunshine up my own ass, or believing my own PR bullshit.
It is just a realization that I have already done both the Catholic acts
of contrition, and the rites of forgiveness with enough programs, steps, and
friends to know that the past does not get to define me. I choose. No
fear. All in.
Last night, in
a rather amazing conversation (though why ALL of these conversations happen
late at night while standing in the cold I have no idea. Worth it, but damn,
couldn’t they happen at like noon, on a beach, with mai tais?) I admitted
something that I hold really close to my heart. It is about trust and the
relationship that trust plays in my world, and in the love I have for people.
And, frankly, what I know I am capable of in the really dark part of who I am.
Right up until
the end of my first marriage, trust had never been an issue. I have never
been the “jealous-type”, always knowing that I had very little say over whether
or not a man in my life stepped out of his committed words or not, and that my
response to it was more often me blaming myself than to ever risk hurting him
in any way. This is something I still struggle with, the feeling of never being
good enough (or even just “enough”, without even considering the word “good”)
while standing right in front of someone screaming notice me, notice me, notice
me. I have issues, clearly. But trust was never one of them.
I either trusted you, or I didn’t. There was no gray scale here. I
suppose, with time and practice I might be able to learn to trust someone again
depending on the infraction, but for the most part, I know when I won’t trust
you. The trust was always immediate,
naive maybe, but never with any fear or reservation. Given. Nothing else required.
Most people think that trust
is earned. I think that is one way to
get it, say from and employer or from a paid professional. A working relationship based on experience,
a little forethought, and a great deal of follow through. I don’t think trust inside of relationships
works that way.
Back to my ex husband for a
minute, and the whole conversation that brought him up at all. When my ex and I split, two things had just
occurred. First, I found out that he
had put his dick in another chick without the benefit of any form of
appropriate protection against anything, and they were now set to spend the
next nine months (or 18 years, depending on your perspective) with the
consequences of their choice. Second,
he had left, taken nothing with him, and was now asking to come back, after
asking me for a divorce based on whatever kind of guilt and desire was spinning
in his head at the time. My heart,
unequivocally wanted this. I wanted him
in my life, back as my sweet and wonderful husband who made me stuffed French
toast and knew my favorite color and left his socks next to the shower. But that guy. He was already gone. Because my husband could never have cheated
on me, and the guy that was left in my world, had. I loved my husband deeply, even in the middle of all of it, but
knew that there was no way, way down where it counts, that I would ever trust
him again.
I know, back to trust. So when I say I knew that I would never
trust him again, even as I loved him, I knew exactly what that meant. It meant that I would torture him for being
unfaithful. I would make him pay for
his mistake in a thousand different ways, even if I forgave him, and right then
that was a huge if. In the future I imagined I might have questioned all the
money transactions he made. I might
have questioned any overtime work he did.
I might have doubted his Christmas list, his choices from the Chinese
restaurant menu, and the way he tied his shoes. I would never have ever let him forget it that I was hurt, that I
was scared, that I was lonely and unable to forgive myself for not being enough
for him to hold on to me. I would,
everyday, then make him believe that mistakes cannot ever be forgiven, love
cannot ever be given freely, that trust was not anything he deserved, and
basically that he was worthless in my eyes.
The same kind of worthless that I was in my own eyes. I had failed. And I would never have let him
forget it, because truth is, I didn’t trust myself right then. I didn’t trust myself to be faithful. I didn’t trust myself to not give into
whatever immediate desire I felt, because I couldn’t see a future. It was dark. And I knew, even as I made love to him that last time (which
isn’t quite accurate, because it could best be described as a fuck, because
there was not a whole lot of love involved) and let his arms wrap around me, I
was already lonely. Grieving the man I adored who no longer existed.
So back to the conversation
(you remember, the one in the cold, without mai tais), I figured out something
about myself. I no longer use trust as
a weapon. Somewhere along the path I
have been on, my belief in trust came
back, and with it, the freedom to give it freely. To trust and love without expectation, because I had learned,
maybe on a really hard road, that I trusted myself again.
The man that was there in
the conversation, holding my hand, just as cold, just as present, just as
vulnerable as I was, deserved more from me than my fear about ever really
trusting anyone. He already has his own
demons, his own doubts about misplaced trust, his own reserved ticket on the
bus to hell. I am sure my ex husband
had them, way back then, but I could not see them. I was too lost in my own head and fears, that I couldn’t find
love in his quiet words asking to come back.
This time, quietly, I am getting off the bus. I am inviting everyone else to get off, too. I am worthy. The man standing in the cold with me is worthy. Trust can be given and received, even in the
middle of doubt and mistakes, even if the only person trusting me is me.
I think am going to stop
listening to the radio, or at least get a better playlist. And I am going to
live a really really long time. The
future is fine, because the present is fine, and I kinda like it here. Yep, turns out love and trust is like
that. I’ll bring the bbq tongs.
