LJ Idol- Week 1: "Trust Everyone, but Cut the Cards"
“Trust is...choosing to risk making something you value vulnerable to another person’s actions.”
-Charles Feltman, The Thin Book of Trust
“Trust everyone, but cut the cards.”
That quote is written on the sidebar of my blog, along with many others. Every time I scroll through, it sticks out to me, even though I’m the one who put it there. Maybe it’s because it’s slightly out of place among the other quotes, which are mostly about about positivity and endurance of hardship. It’s different, but it feels right for it to be there, because it seems to have the same kind of daily life application for me, though I’d prefer if it didn’t. I’d love to be able to do just the first part, but the second part is, unfortunately, absolutely necessary. I guess that hold true for everyone, but someone in my position can’t avoid it.
My blog is a bit on the generic side, particularly in appearance, but I’m rather fond of it anyway. It’s an important outlet for me, since I don’t have many close people in my life to let things out to. It mostly contains anecdotes from my work and advice I’ve learned along the way. Being a social worker, I suppose it’s my way to want to be helping people, even with my hobbies. It’s hard to gauge how much good my ramblings actually do for anyone, but the blog gets decent traffic, and I have a few dozen loyal followers, as well as many more that pop in and out. With so much of myself out there on the website, it’s no real shock, after all, that every once in awhile, someone in the know stumbles upon it and decodes my secret.
Nobody’s ever stated it directly (I wouldn’t either, in their position), but certain questions and comments make it pretty clear when someone’s figured me out. I don’t make it obvious, but by nature, I leave a trail of breadcrumbs that I can’t avoid. For example, I try to post daily, with at least a quote or a thought, even if it’s nothing substantial, but my absences are always clustered around specific dates each month. Most people would probably attribute it to feminine problems, if they noticed at all, which is convenient but not quite the case. But those similarly afflicted wouldn’t have too much trouble seeing the pattern. When I’m in phase (the term I prefer to use, possibly because I’ve convinced myself that the association with lunar terminology is clever), I’m still functional, but my unavoidable nightly activities exhaust me so much that work is all I can manage, and only barely.
People like me (or people I suspect are like me- as I said, no one’s ever admitted it) also seem to notice my regular mentions of how I’m not able to work later than sunset. It comes up in my stories because it’s a great source of frustration, particularly in winter, when it cuts back my hours so much (when asked, I usually cite seasonal depression or similar problems as the reason). It makes me feel like I’m failing the people I’m supposed to be helping, because I can’t do anything for them after 4:30 pm if it happens to be December. But there’s nothing I can do about it. Night is an odd thing for people like me, even when not in phase. There’s something primal, uncontrolled, about it. It’s very difficult to describe to someone who doesn’t experience it. The point is, after dark, I’m not fully able to be the person I need to be in order to do my work the way it should be done, so I cannot do it. It’s just not fair to the people I work with.
I’ve also vaguely mentioned my interesting heritage from time to time, when necessary for a story, but never going in-depth. Some people, though, seem to figure out what I’m actually talking about, especially if they’ve already put the other pieces together. My condition is transmitted like a disease, but not the way the stories say, through contact. It’s hereditary, passed down through families. I acquired it from my father, who inherited it from my grandmother, and so on. I have a smattering of other relatives as well. I consider it a great blessing, since it’s very hard to make friends and build relationships when you can’t let anyone in too close, to where they start asking questions you can’t answer. It’s too dangerous, for everyone involved.
Not so much dangerous in the ways you might think, though. In all my life, I’ve never hurt anybody- in fact, I’ve rarely even been seen by anyone, not that they knew what they were really seeing, anyway. But I don’t like to toy with the possibility, slim as it may be. That’s one of the things that keeps me here in Montana, out on the edge of the middle of nowhere. I love it out here, so it doesn’t feel like a hardship. Still, job offers or ideas of making a change generally have to be dismissed in favor of the benefits this location affords. It gives me freedom that I couldn’t have living somewhere more populated. It’s odd, but the thing that chains me in every other aspect of my life is also the only thing that makes me feel freed from it. Being in phase is strange. It’s not like the mythology describes, being a monster with no awareness or humanity. It’s more like a half-lucid dream, where you’re simultaneously yourself, and not. You are in control, just not 100%. It’s like an extremely loyal pet who listens most of the time, but may sometimes choose to disobey, to follow instincts other than the ones you insist are important. It’s sometimes frustrating, but most of the time, it’s actually...exhilarating. It almost makes all the rest worth it.
When I get these messages or comments or email from people that seem to have figured me out, I’m never sure how to respond. It terrifies me, but there’s also a spark of elation, almost. Hope. I want to yell Yes! Yes, I’m not the only one, talk to me about all the things we could never talk about to anyone else. But I also want to shut them down, tell they I don’t have any idea what they’re talking about, please leave me alone. So I usually settle for for answering as ambiguously as they asked. Because I can’t let down my guard that easily, no matter how much I wish I could.
And then I wonder why I allow these tip-offs to be visible at all, even if it’s just tiny red flags that almost nobody would pick up on. I don’t have to. I could measure out my blog posts so the gaps weren’t noticeable. I could keep quiet about my work hours and my family and my perpetual isolation, even lie about them if I wanted to. It’s the internet; I could show whatever I want people to see. But instead I leave it all there. Perhaps I let it happen because I’m desperate to tell my story to somebody, somehow, even if it’s just a hint hidden in a website, for somebody I’ll never actually see. Having a blog is basically shouting into the void, anyway, and maybe I’m waiting for the right person to shout back. In my life around me, I have to protect myself. If anyone knew, my life would end, socially, and I couldn’t bear to be taken away from my work. It’s the only thing I have, when I have to keep everything else away.
So I have to cut the cards, as it were, to play the game at all. I can’t afford to be too optimistic or give too much leeway, not even once. But I’ve also tried to live my life trusting nobody and nothing, and it’s miserable. I can’t do it that way, either. Maybe that’s why I hold on to that quote. It’s one thing to put a “Stab Me” sign on your back, hand someone a knife, and turn around. That’s not trust, that’s idiocy. But the knife still exists, no matter how well you hide it. So maybe it’s not so bad to leave it in a place where someone could find it. To trust someone is to allow them access to something they could use to hurt you. All that’s left is to see what they’ll do. It’s all the trust I can extend, but I think it’s worth it. I hope it is.
Cut the cards, but trust everyone anyway.
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