I still have your number.
I remember what you said about trust.
But I woke up as a lost eleven years old, gifted a bomb by his then best friend as an anniversary joke, now-deal-with-it, -
And excuse me, I keep hearing someone else with (You have way many ~anniversary~ reactions. Just stop.)
I don't think you'd comprehend the amount of self loathing, regret, grief, grief, and some more grief, for just Not Being Dead... and not being able to fix it.
Trust isn't regainable. I'm just not back to the world of not trusting, not fearing, and that other N-word mottos have and I don't. But I'm working on it. Just leaving myself breadcrumbs.