Then, of course, I’d crash, and the revulsion and self-degradation would start, swiftly followed by tears. Why couldn’tI be like others? Why couldn’t I accept myself for who I really was?
For too long, I’d wallowed in a pit of loathing. I was an abomination, born to be unloved because of how I was. I couldn’t even say the word, as much as Julie and my previous therapists had encouraged me to embrace it. Others lived happily with who they were, but for me, that wasn’t an option. It would never be an option.
Having performed my usual ritual of berating myself for existing, I went about the business of getting ready. I had another session with Julie. It’d be the same old discussion; the same one we had every week. Was it worth it? Were they doing something, or was I just fooling myself into thinking I needed them every week?
Four years of doing this, and I was no further forward than I was at the very first session.
I was being stupid. Of course I’d made progress. The cutting was at a minimum, and seeing Killian and how he’d been with that other guy… could that be me?
The question had been playing on my mind since seeing him. I’d queried everything I imagined to be true. Being gay was wrong; I was a deviant, a freak of nature. That’s what my mind told me. But now I was seeing it everywhere.
Out on the street, men walked hand in hand, as did women. Books with happy ever afters, TV shows, and movies. Grandma would have been in her element, and perhaps we’d have watched them together. She accepted me for what I was, even if I couldn’t.
The session with Julie went much the same as before, except now Julie’s words about how I should step out of my comfort zone struck a chord.
I’d already done that by purposely going out last night. Okay, it hadn’t gone to plan, but Killian had touched me. Not sexually,but enough for me to realise that I wouldn’t self-combust if it happened again. I’d shrunk back from him, though, and told him not to touch me, because if he’d done it again, I might have liked it far too much.
But what would be so wrong with that?
Remembering he’d put his number in my phone, I pulled it up, looking at it for far too long. Did I have the courage to call him? Text him?
I put it back on the coffee table and looked at it again. I reached for it more than once, but my nerves got the better of me. Butterflies invaded my stomach and chest.
Breathe, Harvey. Breathe.
I closed my eyes and took deep, calming breaths until my heart had slowed sufficiently, no longer threatening to beat out of my chest.
You can do this. What would Grandma say?
Funny how her opinion carried more weight than all my therapists.
“Go for it, Harvey,” she’d have said. “Only you have the power to change your future.”
With shaking hands, I picked up the phone. I tapped out a text and hit send before I could change my mind. It was nothing major, just thanks for looking after me. In all honesty, it was the least I could do.
Within minutes, he’d replied.
Killian:No problem. happy to help ya. How you doing today?
Harvey: Good, thanks. Bit sore. You were right about the eye.
Killian: Been there and got the fucking t-shirt to match.
Now what did I say?
Harvey: Ok, well that was all. Thanks again.
Killian: Look, if you’re free, we could go for that coffee. No pressure.
I nibbled on my thumbnail, tearing at it until it was down to the nailbed.
Should I go? Should I try to change my future? Should I step out of my comfort zone?
I put the phone down and walked into the kitchen. I looked out the window at the waterlogged garden. Mum and Dad had taken so much pride in it when they were alive. I did what I could, but out of a sense of duty, not because I enjoyed it.
I put the kettle on and waited for it to boil, all the time wondering what I should say. Ignoring him no longer seemed like an option. Hell, even last week I’d have deleted the text and moved on, so why was today different?
Fuck. I was getting as bad as Julie with all these questions.