The late bloomer

I have another friend that has been added to the trust list.  I'm realizing that I'm safer than I thought.

I hide in the cocoon of a friend who would exchange tears with me last night, as she spoke about her pain, grieving and fears, after having lost the partner she had in her life.

She represents those I've chosen to support my heart, and I may be able to handle the dregs of the world who may say things that are meant to harm:

Those who live for the opportunity to peck at the weakest chicken in the coup.

It's possible that my encasing has thickened enough to bear the striking of beaks that may try to pierce my skin, but I certainly don't want to try out my theory yet.

I had a few tears last night while talking about my fear of people that has come to a head.

Gotta pop that bitch, but I don't know if she's quite ready.  There is a little more poison that needs to accumulate before I pinch it to release the pressure.  If I go in too early, I'll just wind up with a red swollen mess.

I don't need another experience like the one that backfired when I was in high school when I was ostracized by a clique that I was a part of.

There was confirmation that I was truly unworthy of love.  It stung that fragile child inside, uttering proof that I wasn't the only one who hated me, and it was my first visit to a suicide attempt.

For years, I spiraled into the bewildered delirium of drugs and alcohol to feed the person I felt I needed to be.  The 'I don't care' person.  The slow self-slaughter that would build a firewall higher and more brilliant.

I would look into the mirror at the stranger and say, "See!  Don't you EVER trust anyone again!"

I would accept every hurt as an opportunity to mold me into the person I thought I needed to be to survive in this world of predators.

That had to stop when I got clean and sober.  I couldn't hide behind the 'tough girl' and out came that child who needed everyone to love her again.  She was optimistically waiting in there for the opportunity to shine once more.

I don't have my drugs to hide behind to pretend I don't care this time.  I do care, and all of a sudden, after 11 going on 12 years of being clean and sober, I've finally realized why some people may be a little more private in their lives.

Fear.

I've always been so open about my goings on in life.  This one, I have to keep to myself and my gaggle of friends that I know I can trust.

But the point is, I know who I can trust for now.  I don't really feel the need to binge on collecting people who may or may not love me anymore.  I have all I need.

I have people that I know won't say the words I can't bear to hear:

"You're selfish for not accepting your love's male transformation."

"You have nothing to cry about."

"If you're that upset, then just leave,"

"I don't want to hear you whine about it,"

"You're married to a freak."

Oh, the list can go on and on and on.  I hear the echos of my childhood in every phrase I'm terrified of reliving.

Without my drugs to mask the fear, I hide from those who could do me harm.

They're out there.  I have the proof within the scars I'm finally taking a look at.  They're a deep and permanent part of me.

Truly, love is all you need.

I think I'll have a party.