Guarded

Ever since him, I dole out my smiles very carefully to doctors.

I had been so thrilled to have a doctor, any old doctor, to see me, let alone a (supposed) specialist, that I smiled.

I greeted him with a smile.

I laughed at every funny and non-funny joke indiscriminately.

I smiled and nodded along, understanding little.

I didn't know enough to ask questions. I wasn't jaded or careful enough to realize what he was insinuating. How was I to know he would take my fake-happy face as a bad thing?

Now my guard is up. He is in large part responsible. For telling us we are a disfunctional family. For blaming me and my parents for my illness.

My walls are up. Solid and firm. They take a while to come down. I sit and absorb, making observations, with a neutral face.

I am jaded and wary. This has served me well on occasion, but this is not who I want to be.

I don't want to be constantly afriad of being hurt. Not only by doctors, but by the non-medical world.

I want to see the good in people and give them the benefit of the doubt. I want to be able to sit quietly and observe, but not because I am afraid.

I want to smile when something is funny and not hold back because of how I may be perceived.

He taught me to tread carefully, to not give too much away, to not get my hopes up.

I am in no way grateful.