Trust.

The other night I left work and headed to a friend's house. I sat on his couch reading a collection of short stories while he sat in the next room, hunched over a laptop dealing with some unfinished schoolwork. We discuss his recent breakup, he rejects my glorious insights but seems appreciative to have me around. Our friend is DJing at a bar down the street, we go, meet up with a few friends and I'm treated to free iced tea-ginger ale. The woman behind the bar is a good friend too. Most of the people I see tonight know what I've gone through, being sober in front of them is easy. I get home a bit before one, I'd called ahead to let my parents know I'd be home late, I have the next day off.

I've been sober for over four months at this point.

The next morning, my dad comes up to me, points out I've been going out a lot, questions my sobriety.

There's no suspicion when I reassure him, but that's not the point.


How does one gain trust?


Repetition equals emphasis. I can tell people that things are different now, that I am different now, and if I truly believe that, it becomes difficult to accept that other people don't.  Those that care the most often are the hardest to convince, because they're the ones that want to believe more than anyone, the ones that feel like they have the most to lose.

I've been in the midst of settling into a full work week, but I feel good right now. I've been saving money, making efforts to see people and have been doing what I can to make responsible decisions. It's my goal to keep making the next right choice and if I falter, to do what I can to correct it. I don't expect to be perfect, but, in time, I expect people to trust that I'm doing the best that I can.

To be honest, I need to prove it to myself along with everyone else.