Trust is something I talk about often but don't really understand. I've got too many knives in my back to count. So far, almost everyone I've called a friend has put a knife in my back, and those who didn't either moved away from me, or I moved away from them. Many of those I've met who I never really called a friend turned into bullies, thus turning my "friends" into bullies as well.

And since my parents divorced when I was a toddler, I've been introduced to a few unfortunate partners. One of them turned into my stepmom, who I haven't really seen in a few years because she always went out of her way to make me feel worthless and upset. Luckily, I saw through her lies, and so has everyone else except for my dad. So, Dad and I made a compromise. I left the house so I didn't have to see my stepmom anymore, and I've managed to keep a good relationship with Dad by hanging out with him on some weekends. 

I'm glad that despite all the stuff I've been put through, I haven't turned bitter and angry about it. I could've very easily and justifiably turned mean, but I haven't and I never want to. I know there's good people out there, and I've met them, so that keeps me hopeful. And, as time goes on, with therapy and hobbies, I'm healing. I've managed to forgive and forget the names of most of my worst bullies, and I hope I one day forget their faces too. 

Since I left my dad's house, I haven't really tried repairing my "relationship" with my stepmom, if I ever really had one in the first place. I tried making friends with her, but it never worked out. She didn't like that I didn't act like other girls, and she really didn't like my mom who I reminded her of. She always had something mean or snarky to say, which got to me when I was little, but I grew used to it pretty quickly. When I was older, she resorted to threats and telling lies about my family, and for some reason, that really got to me. Of course, she never said these things around my dad. She always did it when I was alone. But, she was the same way towards my mom and a few other people, so I know I'm not crazy or exaggerating. She tried to manipulate me, and failed miserably.  

When I left the house, I left scared of my stepmom. She tried interfering with my school and therapy, but when that didn't work, she just pretended I never existed at all. I saw her for my grandpa's funeral in Minnesota. She had her son around, who is my age, and was a danger to me when I was little. Her son has some mental issues I don't really know about, which is why my mom took my stepmom to court to protect me from my stepbrother. He's been on medication for a very long time, and I was also scared of him until I met him again after 11 years apart. My stepmom seemed shocked by how tall I've grown, and she completely avoided even looking at me the whole trip. She used to tower over me, but now I stand over her. Her son was so strung out on whatever pills he's on, that he was just a shell of a person. He showed no emotion at all. He just played games on his phone and seemed completely oblivious to the world around him. 

My mom had very good reasons to protect me from my stepbrother, and is why she won the court case in the first place. My stepmom was obviously and understandably resentful, but since she was unable to lash out at my mom, instead she chose me. Whenever I tried to create a little trust between us, my stepmom would break it in some way or another, and knowingly did it. I guess this was her way of "getting back", although it never really won her anything, nor did it do me any good. It just taught me to hold back my trust of those closest to me, because at one point, in my mind, everyone around me was gonna make me trust them just enough, just so I'd feel pain when they broke that. That's probably why I became a lot more withdrawn and didn't make any close friends. 

For the record, I have no hard feelings or fear remaining towards my stepmom or her son. I feel bad for them, but there's nothing I can really do to repair the damage that I never dealt in the first place. The best thing to do is accept an apology that was never said, and forgive the damage that was done and move on. That is what I did anyway, and it's lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. (Come to think of it, my story with my stepmom is kinda like Benjamin Franklin's story of the lion and the dog. Only, I'll never seek revenge. When I actually get around to publishing a memoir, I don't want to put my stepmom in it, and I don't think she wants to be in it either.)

I've been doing similar things for my school bullies. I think about everything they did, forgive them for each event I remember, and attempt to forget who they are. It has worked for many of them. Sometimes it's harder to forgive and forget some bullies than it is others, but I keep telling myself that a lot of kids are stupid and cruel in middle and high school. When they grow up, most of them will look back on those days with sorrow and guilt, so I'd rather let them be bitter over themselves, than for me be bitter towards someone I'll probably never see or recognize again. But still, I know I'll probably never forget some of their faces, and some of their names will be somewhere in my mind for the rest of my life. I know they're a big reason why I became even more withdrawn, and a huge reason why school became such a dreaded place to be, right behind the hospital. 

Of course, that isn't to say the past doesn't stick with me, since it does. It has kept me quiet and nervous around people. It sometimes keeps me up at night, or worries me during the day.  It keeps me in therapy. It doesn't go away.

I'm always alert and listening to my surroundings when I'm out in public, especially if I'm alone in public. I also tend to underestimate my size. I'm kind of like a 120 pound Great Pyrenees who thinks its a lap dog. I still find myself in the same mindset I had several years ago, when I was small and weak for my age. 

But now, I'm the biggest one on my mom's side of the family, and by far the biggest one in the household. I'm still the midget to my dad's family in Minnesota, since at 5,6, I'm the shortest by a few inches. But around my mom's side, I'm at least an inch taller than everyone else. And, that means I'm apparently on the stronger side as well. 

Realizing my strength has made me look at my past in a different way. If I were to experience it now, I would've definitely been strong and brave enough to defend myself. If a past bully tried shoving me into the side of a door frame today, chances are, I would shove him through the door. If someone spread a rumor about how my disease is contagious, I would've definitely stuck a wet finger in her ear when she least expected it. And my encounter with my stepmom in Minnesota, proved that she wouldn't have said anything negative to me if I didn't seem so weak and fragile. Of course, I've nearly doubled my size in the last five years or so, so while today I see many ways to make fun of the bullies, five years ago it was absolute hell for me to go through. 

Unlike today, I couldn't trust myself. I knew how small and weak I looked to everyone else. I was fully aware of my differences, and knew I didn't stand much of a chance against anyone. These days, I can trust myself more. I've grown up, and with that I've gotten a lot more active, eaten a lot better, gotten stronger, and overall just gotten healthier. Even though Cystic Fibrosis still progresses with age, I'm way healthier today than I was five years ago. Because of that, people haven't bullied me in a long time. And even more importantly, I can trust myself enough to start trusting others a little more, since my strength has granted me confidence I don't think I ever had.

There's some benefits that come with having trust issues. For one, I don't trust my doctors with absolutely everything. They like to administer antibiotics, sometimes for just "preventative" reasons. But the issue often is, antibiotics do more harm than good. Many people with Cystic Fibrosis were destroyed by antibiotics, which is why they ended up dying in the hospital. It wasn't the disease itself that was the most destructive. It was the medicine used to fight the disease that ultimately killed them. 

Another benefit is that I'm usually left alone in public. I know this might piss some people off, but clothes and posture do usually matter in public. I stand up tall and walk with purpose. I'm pretty boring to look at since I don't flaunt my beauty or show myself off. I'm not unaware of my surroundings in public at all. In fact, I'm so aware that a leaf being moved an inch on the ground behind me is often enough to make me stare at it. I sometimes spook at my own shadow, but it's better than being unaware of the potential creep lurking in the woods. I've never been leered at, followed, or catcalled, which I chalk up to the fact that I never wear makeup, I always wear the same jeans, T shirts, hoodies, and caps pretty much everyday, and I really don't care about my appearance as long as I'm clean and comfortable. (tie back into trust)

My past has also taught me caution, and that caution has probably saved my life. I haven't trusted my doctors with my life, and I question every pill and treatment they recommend. Because of this, antibiotics haven't had the chance to destroy my body, and make resilient infections stronger.

Sometimes that caution can get in the way, such as when I was in Boston and already late for the conference on the first day. We were 15 minutes late because my mom spent 5 minutes trying to convince me the door to the conference room was in the alleyway. She eventually just dragged me by my arm the best she could with my heels literally digging into the ground. While my mom was pretty mad over that, at the same time, she seems to be pretty glad I'm like that sometimes. She can trust me to be safe, and not have to worry so much about me when I'm alone in public. 

My mom knows I'll never get into drugs, alcohol, or any of that stuff. She knows I'll call her if I find myself in trouble or feeling unsafe. When I go with my dad or someone else, where I'm far away from home, my mom knows I'll always return home happy and healthy. In the past, my cousins have thrown massive parties in the middle of the Minnesota countryside. I never stayed past midnight, and turned down every drink offering I got. Even when I'm on the dirtbike, I know my limits and what can possibly happen, and I take every precaution possible when I know I'll be riding hard. Sure, crashes do happen. They always do. But I never injured myself enough to end up at the ER, and God forbid I ever do. 

 There are times where I wish I could trust people more easily and better, since I've probably missed out on a few good friendships due to my nervousness and reservation. Yet, there's a reason for everything and I have to say, being socially skittish isn't always a bad thing. There's a lot of wolves in sheep's clothing out there, and I know it because I've met them. Only, unlike a lot of other people, I never fell for their charm. 

I enjoy the freedom of being alone, and not being deeply tied to friendships. I've known a lot of people who felt obligated to hang out with their friends, no matter how sick or how well they were. Sometimes people fell into toxic friendships that they wanted out of but didn't know how. Others got caught up in useless drama, and hated someone else for no other reason than their friends did. I don't need or want that negativity in my life, and because of my ways, I think I've avoided it... For the most part. 

In my private Christian school, I met some good people. Unfortunately, there's always that one person, and in a school of 8 students, it wasn't like I could do much to avoid them. She was hurting, and I understood that. But it was a big mistake to tell her I'm around if she needed anything at school. It was an even bigger mistake to give her my number. She texted me daily, even though I hardly ever responded. At school, she complained about how much she hated life. The teachers knew everything since I was smart enough to tell them, but no amount of therapy, friendship, and medication really helped that girl out.

The school held a BBQ one weekend evening, where I met the gal's mom. The mom must've been the source of many of the issues. Right away, I sensed something was wrong with her. She was definitely a helicopter parent, since she followed her near-18 year old daughter around, telling her to not leave her sights and to keep her phone on at all times. (I'll add, the girl had a flip phone, and her parents installed some weird tracking software on all of her electronics, that blocked most social media sites and emailed her internet history to her parents everyday.) Later, that mom started talking to my mom. She seemed pretty surprised by how relaxed my mom is with me, especially since my mom was letting me take care of myself at the BBQ, even when it was dark and later in the night. 

After that night, the girl got jealous or something of me, and seemed to want to be me. She always barged into my personal space and told me even more TMI stuff about herself. After that, I never really told her about myself, and just did my best to avoid her in the last couple months of school. She went to my same church, and when school finally ended, she hunted me down and sat uncomfortably close to me in the seat I saved for my mom. I side-eyed her as she explained how much she missed me and wondered why I wasn't getting her texts or phone calls (I blocked her number). The church was loud, and something in me snapped. I just got up, told her to get the **** away from me, and that was that. Her face just dropped and she hightailed it out of sight. A few minutes later, my mom came by with cookies and drinks. I told her what happened, and she praised me for standing up for myself, and said not to feel bad. I forgot about that for a long time, until my mom asked me about it a few months ago. 

Truth is, I probably wouldn't have found myself in that situation if that school didn't obligate us to be kind no matter what. I'm all for the "love thy neighbor" stuff, but I'm pretty sure Jesus flipped tables and drove merchants out using a whip at one point. Of course, I'm too often too nice and respectful, but even I snap sometimes. 

My encounter with that girl made me even more socially wary than I already am, and was part of why I wanted to get out of that school ASAP. I felt cornered, and I knew I couldn't trust the teachers to take my side if I ever retaliated. I didn't know what that girl was capable of. She was bigger than me, we were in a very small fundamentalist Christian private school, and she was being constantly monitored by her helicopter parents, so I avoided even dropping a hint that she should go away. That was until summer began and she found me in the church. When I was out of that school and she was too, and I had blocked her out of my life, I felt a surge of confidence to defend myself. While I'm not exactly proud of telling her to basically f-off in church, I'm proud that I got her to go away and never return.

I still think about her, and I feel bad for her. From what she's told me in her rants, her parents were overprotective of her at the start. She began to rebel, but that just made the chains tighter. She lost all of her privacy, and she lost her social life. Her parents likely used her rebellion to support their helicopter parenting, and that is depressing to me. What makes things worse, is that I don't think her case is all that unique and isolated. 

Trust is a double-edged sword. My parents trusted me fully at the start. At an early age, I was taking good care of myself. I was compliant when taking pills, doing treatments, doing chores, etc. I told my parents when I didn't feel ok, and was always honest with them. I suck at lying and I probably can't write fiction very well because of that. But to stick to the point, my parents gave me pretty much all the freedom I could ask for at a young age. Of course, I still had curfews and responsibilities, but when I was as young as 7 or 8 years old, my mom was perfectly ok with me running down the block, knocking on all the neighbor kids' doors, and playing with them in the front yard and on the street. From what she saw, we were always on the lookout for cars and looked out for each other. My parents told me to be proud when I came home sweaty and scraped, and said that the harder and longer I played, the healthier and more mature I got to be. 

Meanwhile, it seems like less and less parents are trusting their kids like that. Even my mom has gotten considerably more protective over my 9-year-old little half brother, than she was of me when I was 8 years old. I think that could be because of how accessible news and information are today, and I've seen a few news specials here and there, where preteens and teenagers reveal all their little secrets on their phones. But many helicopter parents have been like that since they became parents, such as the girl's parents from my Christian school.

I'll never understand helicopter parenting, but I do understand the inability to trust. This is only because I've trusted a lot of people, but have been hurt, often purposefully, by them. But in the case of helicopter parenting, the kids never had the chance to break their parents' trust or learn to grow up in the first place. How can you trust someone who doesn't know how to fend for themselves in the real world? You can't. How can you trust helicopter parents if they suck at parenting? You can't. It's a bad place to end up, and I'm glad my parents have made me solve a lot of my own problems. After all, I was born with a disease only I can fight, and I'm one of the healthiest CFers in the world. I'm obviously trustworthy, but I struggle to trust everyone else, including and often myself.