"Stay You." (Part 1 of 2)
About five years ago, I was sitting on a therapist’s couch for the first time. I couldn’t quite find the words to describe what brought me in; I felt disembodied, separate somehow, actively striving, but passively participating. The externals looked right–I had great friends, I was in a loving relationship, I was academically successful and generally well-regarded by peers and faculty. But the dissociation was unbearable. I was not sure why, I was sure only that I felt I was not living, but rather being lived.
“It’s as if I’m an athlete on a field,” I explained, “But I’m really the commentator in the box. And I’ve got nothing nice to say about what I’m doing.”
Offhandedly, I mentioned sexuality.
“Are you gay?” He asked, quite simply, and with a matter-of-fact disposition that did not assume it knew the answer. It caught me off guard. I gulped.
“I don’t know.”
I had temporarily succeeded in changing the outward expression of my inner experience. I could be a “bro,” as it were. I could halfheartedly participate in dating, I could conflate genuine platonic affection with sincere romantic love, indeed, I could effectively perform heterosexuality. These behaviors were well-rehearsed. I believed them to be correct.
I knew they were not. But I wasn’t ready to look at them. I’m not gay.
“Okay,” my therapist said, not deterred. “We can put that on the shelf for now, and while we work on some other things, maybe your perspective of that will change.”
“Okay,” I said, choking back a sob. I did not want a changed perspective. I wanted to be changed. Years of membership at a non-affirming church had deeply implanted the notion that to be gay was a sinful anomaly, removed from God’s holy perfection, a reflection of an internal brokenness that could, with enough effort, prayer, and devotion, be fixed somehow. Though I had long rejected those views, I had not yet shaken the fundamental belief that something was deeply, deeply wrong with me.
My therapist began his stump speech. “Your gifts, your personality, your desires, everything that makes you you, is stored within the unconscious mind. It’s who you are when you’re not thinking about it.”
Not thinking about it. Revolutionary to me–every word I spoke, every move I made was studied and rehearsed, designed to ward off suspicion. The thought that I could simply stop doing that was overwhelmingly enticing. I did not want to be gay. But I wanted that.
“…does that sound okay?” He asked, bringing my consciousness back from the whirlwind of fear, excitement, and vulnerability that the idea of freedom provoked. It felt unsafe, and all the while I was sure that this journey was one I could not miss out on–to do so would be to miss out on life itself. The alternative had become intolerable. With the hesitancy of a child stepping off of the high diving board for the first time, I answered:
Yes.