Like A Teddy Bear

The gossip tree has a dangerous limb to crawl on; the thin branch of trust. An experience is told, in confidence, or at least reaching out for understanding and sympathy, and I trust my life won't be plastered in the thoughts of every open ear. I don't talk about who I am to anyone; I pick my friends carefully, I tell select few and I trust very little. And once again, I've been shown why I don't trust others.

It's not a betrayal. To betray there would have to be an ounce of hope in the other party. To betray, the other person would have to have character, merit, class. This is not betrayal. This is verification that nothing matters to a lot of people. Scratch that - Nothing matters to some people except for themselves. To be the person with the secret. To have others lean in and be invested in what you're saying. To be the big shot. I know something you don't know. The word pathetic comes to mind, but in fact everyone loves the notion that they are in the loop and can inform someone of the juicy details; the gossip; the dirt. Why is the world so focussed on up-to-the-minute details about people they don't even know? Imagine when the tale is about someone you know. Your co-worker is doing what? Taking advantage of the need-to-know urge in others is the lowest of the low, but not surprising.

So now I'm the drunk. Now he's the creep. Now I stand here in the depth of a lie, of a tarnished image I can't clean and I'm sinking. I want to scream, defend, argue ... but all I manage is a few (hundred) tears at four o'clock in the morning. My private life is a discussion between my friends. They look at me differently, talk behind my back, judge and snicker. I have the scarlet letter plastered on my chest, and unlike Hester, I didn't put it there, I'm not proud, and I don't deserve it.

I'm still sweet. I still have feelings. I have my own image I'm trying to build. The person I'm trying to be isn't who everyone is now thinking. My efforts are dashed. Reconstructing from the ground up is hard, especially when people have a preconceived notion. So my verdict is to what? Do I push on, ignore my anxieties? Do I kick up the dirt and throw mud in her eyes? Neither. I'm stuck in a roundabout where I can't find the right exit to get me on the road to a life without this. Round and round the garden. Like a teddy bear.