Friends

To be quite honest, the concept of friends scares me. Why? Because of the level of implicit trust comes to fruition in their company. But not just any friends - mates. The type who really know who one is.

I read someone somewhere (don't ask me for credentials, I couldn't provide them) that "friends are the people who know who you really are and still choose to be seen in public with you."  I don't know about you, but I'm a pretty disgusting piece of humanity inside my little facade. I get angry, petty, peevish, out of sort, ticked off, jealous, or just plain grumpy for some pretty stupid reasons. My mates, unfortunately, have been subjected to that behavior despite my best efforts to limit their exposure. And it scares me that I have to trust them.

Think about it. My friends have seen me at my worst. I'm not indulging in hyperbole when I say that. They've seen some pretty unsavory stuff. They've seen me at the bottom. And they still choose to be seen with me in public. I have no choice but to trust them because the cat is out of the bag. It's not a secret I can keep because the ball is already in their court. It's a level of implicit trust that I cannot alter. The only thing I can do is to worry about it.

Take right now, for instance. I'm ... concerned, to say the least. I've told three people about my peculiar malady in the past month, and am not sure I wanted to in the first place. The first example, I had no choice. Once again, it came out without meaning to. And the second time, it was a reciprocal piece of trust. So while they make me uncomfortable, it's nothing worth staying up over. However, today was something different. There was a split second where I could have recovered, saved myself and kept my secret. And yet, it still came out.

I feel like an idiot. I feel like an exhibitionist. And worst of all, I feel horrible about it. This last instance was not someone who needed the information. If anything, it may only add to his problems. The conversation wasn't naturally turning in the way I forced it.

I'm mad at myself. I made a promise not to talk with anyone about anything, and here I am breaking my word for a reason yet obscured to me. I told aa friend who I enjoy being friends with. If I knew why it came out in the first place, I wouldn't feel so bad.

But as it is, I'm no better than any other attention seeking silly teen-aged girl sharing secrets for a friend's attention. And until I can fix my mistake in person, I have to sit on the fence, trusting my friends against my will.

B