The fear of trust is often the fear of rejection. We all have to deal with this fear. It’s something that we learn as children growing up. I wish I could say that I was strong in that sense. I am not. It’s probably my biggest weakness. Compounded by scars that mark much of my body, I am still learning to achieve a balance.
I’ve often swung back and forth between trusting too much and not trusting enough. Both extremities are dangerous. If I build the wall too high, no one gets in. I leave it too low, I am vulnerable. Where do I find the middle?
I spent most of my k-6 years being too trusting. There are many stories that I can tell of my experiences growing up. One in particular still stings as if it just occured yesterday.
In 5th grade, I was enrolled into a new elementary school. I was scared to death. Not only would I be facing the daunting task of making friends with kids I hadn’t grown up with – I’d have to do it wearing a mask. Earlier in the summer I had undergone my 12th surgery. Skin was grafted onto my face from my scalp. I was then required to wear a “pressure garment” for at least 22 hours of the day. The pressure garment is tight and is soposed to help protect the delicate skin from the elements, but also help the new layer stay as smooth as possible.
That first day of school, I was so nervous. By lunchtime, I did work up the courage to ask a group of girls if I could sit with them. They allowed it and just like that…I found my circle of friends.
As in all social circles, there was a “leader of the pack”. We all followed her rules of conduct, her rules of appropriate dress attire, and we all nodded our heads yes when she wanted us to. She rarely allowed anyone else to have an opinion which bugged me from time to time. But I was accepted and therefore, I dared not rock the boat. It was already a few months into the school year when I discovered this flaw about the group and I feared it was too late to try to mingle with anyone else.
By the time we moved onto middle school, things had shifted a bit. Somehow, I started to set the tone for the group. I think everyone was just tired of the “same old, same old” from what’s her face. I had grown up on the “rough side of town” and therefore I had more interesting tales to tell. I was never obnoxious nor bossy like she was. I think everyone liked this. As she lost more and more control over the clique, she got really angry. Behind my back, she began to tell lies about me to our fellow gal pals. I don’t know how long this went on, but one day the beans were spilled. Her accusations were layed out on the table. It took every last bit of me to stand up for myself. In the end I walked away and never returned to that circle again. A week later, she actually asked me if I was going to start eating with them again. I said no & simply walked away for the last time.
What no one knew is that I was hiding on the forbidden side of campus during breaks and lunch hour. I was distraught over the betrayal of my so called friends. I definately didn’t have the courage to try and make new friends. There were only a few weeks of school left and I figured I could just hide out until summer arrived. Many times I found myself crying. I felt so alone.
One day, I managed to sneak into the building through a door that hadn’t been secured. I had intended on heading to the restrooms so that I’d at least be in the AC while waiting for the back-to-class bell to ring. I ended up running into “J”. I knew her from 5th grade but hadn’t seen her much that year. She said hello and stopped to chat with me a bit. She then asked if I wanted to go with her and her other friends.
There were 5 others in that group. I found myself relieved of the stress of having to fly solo in restricted areas of the school. All seemed to go really well. Two weeks later, it was decided we would develop a friendship club. We spent days talking about the rules and activities we would engage in. We came up with a club name and even a member’s only password. It was very exciting.
After a week or so of planning, I found out a devastating secret. School let out for the day and those of us girls who walked home in the same direction made a quick stop at the ice-cream truck. For some reason “J” and “M” were whispering frenitically into a boy’s ear and laughing. I knew something was “off” but didn’t know what it could be. When our paths seperated, the boy rode over to me on his bike. He advised me that my “friends” were setting me up. The Friendship Club was going to be their way of slapping me in the face with rejection, and to do it very publically. They had no intentions of actually allowing me in the club. They were counting the days until the time would come for them to humiliate me.
I never gave them that chance of course. I never let on that I knew what was going on. I just simply disappeared again. Went back to hiding on the other side of school while everyone ate. I couldn’t understand what it was I had done to provoke such cruelty. I learned later that “M’s” older brother constantly made fun of me and my scars. He had a series of names he called me and even mimicked the way I sometimes stood with my mouth open, bottom lip jutting down. What he didn’t realize is that due to the tight scarring on my neck, the tissue pulled on my chin and in turn my mouth tended to hang open. It wasn’t something I could control.
I don’t know if the girls had always intended to embarass me or if it was a plan they came up with after being poisoned by the nastiness of one jerk of a guy and his friends. I do know that after that I was never the same. I became much more guarded. To this day, this incident, and others, still affects how I do or don’t interact socially.
Over the years, I adopted different coping mechanisms. I was everything from sweet to a tough girl. Being tough kept people from messing with me, but it also meant posturing an attitude I wasn’t proud of. Yet, that way, I felt in control. If I could control everything, I wasn’t as likely to get hurt.
Sometimes, when someone hurts me -even when it’s unintentional- I fly back to this moment. I find myself turning events over and over in my head, distrusting everyone and everything. I find myself waiting to be preyed upon and questioning everyone’s motives.
Eventually, I move on to hiding and keeping everyone out. It’s a vicious cycle. I battle with it and at times I am stronger than others. I’ve learned that I shouldn’t be embarassed by the things I’ve gone through. I don’t have to beat myself up over “what did I do?” This brand of anxiety always leads to guilt. Guilt for crying when there are those who have suffered even more. Guilt over not feeling like a stronger person.
It helps to recognize that bad behaviour is bad behaviour. If it hadn’t been done to me, it would have been done to someone else. It’s just not personal. I wish I hadn’t been so stubborn in hiding things like this when I was younger. I just didn’t want anyone, and especially mom, to know how vulnerable I really was. I read somewhere that it does help to let it out. So I am trying. But man, it is hard.
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