“In what ways do you think that?”
Again, I’m at a loss for where I can even start with answering that. But I'm in my head pretty much all the time anyway. All I have to do is take my mental voice and put it into my real voice.
“Do you mind if I ramble a bit?” I ask.
“Go right ahead.”
I don’t ramble; I say the first two words that come to mind.
“I’m gay.”
For the first time I’ve said that out loud, ever, my voice comes out a lot stronger than I would have expected. I do my best to not stare directly at Anita, even though I’m desperate to see how she reacts, so I keep her in my peripheral vision.
And she nods. She does that a lot.
“Thank you for telling me,” she says. “Is that the first time you’ve told anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Is that something you’re struggling to accept? As part of being ‘normal,’ that is.”
Surprising myself, I manage to smile, even though this isn’t a topic I thought I’d be happy to discuss. “No, honestly. It’s been six years since I suspected, and I’m at the point where it is what it is.” Pausing, I wait for Anita to say something, and when she doesn’t, I fill the silence. “I didn’t come here because of my sexuality,” I clarify, bending the truth a little. “I’m here because I need to…”
Anita still doesn’t reply. She probably wants me to finish my sentence. Discomfort brews in my stomach, but I power through it. After all, if I stayed in my comfort zone, I wouldn’t leave my room. Ever.
“I need to undo what my parents taught me,” I get out.
Anita nods. “And what exactly is it that your parents taught you, that you’re trying to reverse?”
“To be quiet,” I reply.
Jeez, I’m going in circles.
“Okay.” She thinks for a second, clasping her hands together. “That’s quite a bit to go over here, especially for a first session, so why don’t we focus on your goals. Could you name one or two outcomes that you’d like to work toward as we move through our sessions, should you choose to continue?”
My mind goes back to how I froze up when I met Nick and Ian, and how poorly I handled their joking during our group project meeting. Like, seriously. I could havetriedto engage.
I sigh. “Maybe…be more confident. And learn how to be friends with people.”
“That’s a good start, and you’re already ahead of most people who seek help. Why is it, do you think, that you need to learn how to be friends with people?”
“I was sheltered,” I say. And I leave it at that.
The rest of the session is super logistical. What treatment might look like. Who to call and where to go if I need anything urgent.
If my parents could see me, they’d sneer. Or spit in my face. Or something else I don’t particularly want to think about.
Yeah. I don’t feel any better after this, but I don’t feelworse,either. I’ll keep coming in case I eventually do. I just want tobreathe.
Hopefully undoing nineteen years won’t take another nineteen.
As I push the door open on my way out of Anita’s office, mypalm leaves a streak of stress-induced perspiration behind. God, that’sdisgusting.
As quickly as I can, I wipe the marks off the metal handle with the cuff of my sweater and dart into the nearest bathroom to scrub my hands clean. While drying the wetness off under the weak puff of an ancient hand dryer, my eyes drift to a clear bowl sitting next to the sink. Like every other public bathroom at this college, it’s full of condoms, which I figure is a nice touch, but it’ll be ages, if ever, before those are of any use to me.
Still, something, possibly the lack of anyone else around me, compels me to make a closer inspection.
Huh. The bowl is split in two.
