“True.” The past few months have been really nice, even if I have given myself the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever seen in my life. “Who knows how long it would have taken me to learn about your weird snow globe thing.”
A bark of surprised laughter echoes down the line. “Brat. It isn’t weird to collect snow globes when you go on vacations.”
“Whatever you say, Daddy.”
He snorts. “Get back to work, honey. Your break is over. We can talk when you get home tonight. After your therapy appointment.”
There’s no point in whining about not wanting to go. Not when I know how important it is. Even though sometimes I feel like it’s a waste of time, I know that even in the short amount of time since I started the twice-a-week sessions at The Little Community Center, I’ve come a long way from where I started.
“I’ll call you when I get home,” I agree, then we say our goodbyes and, after silencing my phone, I slip it back into my locker and head out of the breakroom and back into the hustle and bustle of the hospital’s hallways.
***
The Little Community Center is just outside of the main business district in the middle of the city. From the outside, it looks like a daycare center, with its stucco walls and brightly colored fence and sign. But inside, it’s a sprawling building including a large communal hall. In between the hall and the offices, there’s also a big open rec room which is usually full of beanbag chairs, couches, and coffee tables, and coffee/tea/hot cocoa making facilities, too.
Bypassing the door to the hall, the reception office is glassed off from the chaos of kinky people meeting up and hanging out socially, and the reception desk faces the front door, so whoeverwalks in is always greeted by one of the friendly staff behind the glass.
The hallway to the offices runs around past the reception space and down its other side, and that’s the path I walk as I head to my therapy appointment, waving at Cherie, the blond Mommy at the main desk, on my way through.
Asher and his husband, Charlie (who is also Asher’s Daddy), built this place from the ground up. If not for them, there’s no way I could have afforded to see a therapist twice a week. Hell, I doubt I could even afford a session once a month, even with my hospital-issued health insurance. But, because most of the staff here volunteer or offer discounted services to help out the community, I’ve been able to see Roberto without bankrupting myself. I should really send Ash and Charlie a fruit basket or something. Or maybe offer to volunteer and give back to the community myself.
I’m still pondering these thoughts as Roberto opens the door to his office and gestures me in with a warm smile. He’s middle-aged, with a cuddly belly and salt and pepper hair cut short. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, and he’s constantly nudging them back up to their proper place framing his brown eyes.
For all that I like to tease Kris that my therapist would make the perfect Daddy, I actually mean it. NotmyDaddy, of course, but someone’s Daddy. He just gives off the right vibes for it.
“Nice to see you again, Benji,” he says with genuine enthusiasm, crossing the room and taking a seat in one of the two worn armchairs facing the soft, suede couch. “How are things going?”
I think about the conversation I had with Kris earlier in the day, of the confirmation that I haven’t been too much for him or scaredhim off with my poorly timed emotional breakdown, and I can’t contain my smile. “I’m great.”
Roberto folds one leg over the other, holding his ankle where it rests on his knee. “Would you like to share more with me about things being great at the moment?”
Grinning, I launch into my excitable recount of my talk with Kris, and my optimism about what this might mean going forward. “I’ve never really been in a serious relationship,” I finish.
My counsellor’s lips draw into a gentle smile. “That’s something you’ve put a lot of work into exploring here.”
I nod, recapping our previous discussions, to show him that I’ve been giving it genuine thought, but also to get myself into the right headspace for this conversation. “At school I was the weird kid, or the gay kid, and I started being the bitchy weird gay kid as a whole self-preservation thing. Then after I graduated and moved away, the attitude kept me safe.” Shaking my head, I sigh. “It was safer to scare people away. But I didn’t realize how exhausting it is trying to protect myself all the time. And now…well, I guess I’m afraid I’ll do that to Kris, too. Even though I’ve been working hard to think and act differently, it’s hard.”
Roberto smiles again and opens up his black, pleather-looking notebook. He flips a few pages and reads over his notes, sharing his thoughts aloud. “A while back, you shared about being regressed at The Grove, feeling like Anson and the others wouldn’t want to be your friends anymore. And we’ve talked a little about what you feel set you on the path of pushing people away or running away when you start to feel too happy or too comfortable, and how what that has really done is come back to hurt you. For a long time, those responses were so ingrained and automatic, it can take a while forthe new skills you’ve learned to become more practiced and feel natural.”
Jutting out my lower lip, I huff, “Well it shouldn’t.”
He chuckles and gives me a look that says he knows exactly what I’m trying to do. “It would be so nice if there was an instant fix to creating connections and happiness.” He pauses. “Except I’d be out of a job.”
I giggle a little, then he continues, “More seriously, though, one of the things you’ve told me you’ve found helpful over these past months is communication. So, try letting Kristian know when things are too overwhelming, and explaining that sometimes you might push him away because that’s your go-to defence mechanism.”
“I’ve already kind of tried telling him that I know I’ll probably suck at being a boyfriend.”
“Benji.” When I look back up at Roberto, expecting to be admonished for speaking badly about myself, I find that the gentle smile is back, and his eyes are filled with understanding and warmth. “I’m noticing some pretty harsh self-judgment there. Maybe one of the things for us to continue working on could be showing more kindness to yourself. What do you think?”
I snort and raise my palms at my sides in a 'what can you do' kind of half-shrug. "If you had told me three months ago that I haven't been kind to myself, I would have laughed at you. Because that version of me thought that I was the only person being kind to me."
"And now? How do you feel about that as we sit here today?”
It takes me a long moment to try and find the right words to express the jumble of emotions bouncing around in my head and my heart. "I feel kind of stupid, I guess.”
Roberto stays silent, giving me a little encouraging nod. He cocks his head and waits patiently while I continue to try and sort out my thoughts.
I sigh. “Or, I mean, like I was stupid. And I know” —I hold up my index finger and waggle it at him, anticipating the reflection/response/question thing he usually does— “I’m not supposed to call myself names. But, like, it feels like I was cutting off my pretty little nose to spite my face, you know? And now that I can see that, I want to go back and shake some sense into myself. Like, I don't know, how many good things did I walk away from because I was scared of getting hurt? And how do I know I'm not going to keep doing it?"
