Tuesday, December 23rd 2014

Jack shifted in the armchair, cradling the cup of tea his therapist had handed him, the heat barely making it through to his fingertips. He still found it hard to fully relax in these sessions, even though this was his fourth time here. The air in the room was warm, the dim light from the sunset lamp casting a soft glow across the bookshelves and potted plants. It was calming, in theory.

But no amount of calming decor could make this easy.

He had come here today planning to talk about his parents. The upcoming referendum. Maybe even Paul. And Ciarán's voice from the other night still rattled in his head.

'Knowing and accepting are two very different things'.

Jack had shut him down, bolted for his room, and had a bit of a cry. But the words hadn't left him. They had stayed with him, sitting heavy in his chest like a weight pressing down on his ribs.

'How have you been this week?' his therapist asked, pulling him back to the present.

Jack forced a small shrug. 'Grand.'

'Grand?' she repeated, always challenging his half-hearted answers, which annoyed him.

He sighed. 'I've been better. I've been worse.'

She nodded. 'New Year's is coming up. I know with your brother's anniversary, you mentioned this time of year is hard for you.'

Jack exhaled sharply, setting his tea down on the small table beside him. 'I hate Christmas time, to be honest. I'm dreading going home tomorrow. I hate being stuck at home with my parents.'

'Go on.'

Jack hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. 'They just... my mam is...' He stopped. The words were jumbled in his throat. 'I just feel like I'm never going to be good enough.' She waited, giving him space to continue. 'After college, I'm supposed to move home. Take over the farm.'

'And do you want that?'

'It doesn't matter what I want.'

'Of course it matters,' she challenged. 'Think about it. What does Jack want?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know what I want. But I know I don't want that. I don't want to end up like my parents. I don't want to die alone on that farm, having never lived. I don't want to have to hide who I am.'

His voice cracked on the last words, and he clenched his jaw.

His therapist's eyes were soft but steady. 'And who are you, Jack?'

Jack's breath stilled. His fingers tightened around the edge of his jeans.

There it was.

The question.

The one he had spent years avoiding. The one Ciarán had thrown at him a few nights ago, hitting him like a freight train.

The one he finally, maybe, had an answer for.

'I don't think I'm straight,' he admitted eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.

His therapist didn't react immediately. She let the silence stretch between them, giving him the space to let it settle. The moment the words left his mouth, something cracked open inside him. The weight on his chest didn't lift completely, but it shifted. She handed him the box of tissues, and Jack realised his eyes were burning. He grabbed a handful and swiped at them quickly, but the tears kept coming.

He had said it.

He had finally said it.

Not to Paul. Not to Ciarán. Not to his parents. But to himself. Aloud.

Jack sobbed, sinking deeper into the chair, his shoulders trembling. It was relief. It was grief. It was every bottled-up emotion he had shoved down into the pit of his stomach for the last six years.

'Let it out,' she murmured, her voice calm, grounding.

Jack's body shook as he let the tears fall freely. He had spent so long being afraid of this. Of what it meant. Of what it would change. But now that the words were out, it was almost anticlimactic. Nothing had changed. He was still here. The world hadn't collapsed around him.

It was still terrifying. But it was real. 'I'm not straight,' he repeated.

When the tears finally slowed, his therapist spoke again. 'That was a big thing to say out loud, Jack. How does it feel?'

Jack sniffed, wiping his face. 'Weird. Good, I think. I dunno, scary.'

She nodded. 'That makes sense. You've carried this for a long time.'

Jack let out a shaky breath. His whole body felt drained, but the words kept coming now, like he had cracked open a dam. 'I thought moving to Dublin would help me figure things out. But it's just made me more confused.'

'Go on.'

Jack swallowed. 'I don't want to be alone.'

'Alone in what way?'

He hesitated before answering; Rob, the older man he had met from Grindr flashed in his mind's eye. Of course he was married with kids, but in many ways, he was alone.

'If I tell my parents, they'll hate me. And then what? I can't lose them.'

His therapist leaned forward slightly. 'Why do you think they would hate you?'

Jack let out a humorless laugh. 'Because they're old-fashioned. Because my mam is literally campaigning against gay people getting married.'

'That must be incredibly painful, Jack.' Jack nodded, his throat tight. 'Would it be fair to say that your fear isn't just about losing them,' she said gently, 'but about losing the version of yourself they expect you to be?'

Jack's stomach twisted. He hated how well she could read him. 'I don't know how to be anything else,' he admitted.

'That's understandable. You're young.' she said. 'But Jack, a lot of people think changing their surroundings will help them figure out who they are. That moving cities, or going to a new school, or getting a new job will make everything different. And sometimes it does help. But at the end of the day, you can't outrun yourself. The same fears, the same doubts—they follow you. And until you deal with them, they'll keep resurfacing.'

Jack exhaled sharply, looking away, 'yeah.'

'Can I ask you something?' she said after a moment. Jack nodded. 'Can you ever see yourself getting married?'

Jack hesitated. 'I dunno. I guess I'd like to. I'd like a big family. I never really had that.'

'A support system is important, whether that's blood family or chosen family,' she said. 'Are you seeing anyone?'

Jack shook his head. 'Not seriously.'

'Well are you seeing anyone casually?'

Jack hesitated. 'I have sex a bit,' he admitted.

She nodded, unfazed. 'With men? Women?'

Jack shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of how tight the room felt. 'I've had sex with women more. But it never felt... right.'

She nodded. 'You said women more. What about men?'

Jack hesitated, then swallowed. 'I've had sex with a man before,' he admitted. 'Once. But I was a bit tipsy. I don't think I'd have the balls to do it sober.'

'Do you think you would if there were no consequences?'

Paul's face flashed in his mind. 'I don't know,' Jack murmured. 'Maybe. Probably.'

His therapist nodded, her expression neutral. 'Well, our time is up for today,' she said, and Jack glanced at the clock, realizing they had gone nearly thirty minutes over. 'But I encourage you to explore those feelings cautiously. Not necessarily by acting on them, but by thinking about them in a judgement-free way. If no one else's opinion mattered—what would you do? Who would you be?'

Jack inhaled deeply. He had no idea what the answer was. But he wanted to find out.