Darksill
an excerpt

I orbit and orbit the issue, but I can’t face it. Why is that? I’ve been taught that my problem is that I can’t face it. Where I am, the place in my mind where I live, does not count as an actual place, a destination; it’s a non-space, defined by the fact that I haven’t found my way anywhere acceptable. Where I am doesn’t count as a legitimate lifestyle, it counts as a non-lifestyle, of someone with problems of his own that keep him from falling into place.

It’s true.

How dare it be true.

And it wouldn’t be a problem if they, them, the world, the great human population, hadn’t carefully arranged for it to be a problem to justify themselves. But, it is a problem, I believe it’s a problem, as much as I might rage against believing it because then I’d be the only person on the planet who pursued a line of reasoning that he knows is artificial, from the world outside, that he only has because it was ground into him every hour of every day of his life.

I never for a second considered pursuing therapy as a career. I all ready know that I’d hate all my clients. Just as I never intend to go to a therapist, because I’d hate HIM.

Because I could only go so long without telling him the Big Sexual Secret.

Because THAT is what he would want to hear. He would plumb and plumb for it, to the exclusion of everything else. To every therapist, to everyone in the world, my life, all my issues, all my problems and all my anger revolve around the Big Sexual Secret. It’s the only thing that matters, and if I would face it and resolve it, I would surely drop all this God stuff, right?

It’s so overdetermined that I’ve overdetermined it myself, given it this title. No matter what else I might offer about myself, any therapist worth his salt would chuck it out the instant he got wind of the Big Sexual Secret. Or maybe he wouldn’t even bother with the other stuff. Maybe he’d just write “Big Sexual Secret” at the top of a clean sheet of paper, and wait.

Well yes. At last. It comes out. Her name is Rebeccah Blair. My ex-girlfriend. Of which I have only one, ever. It happened in high school; our relationship started, withered and ended based on her expectations of getting laid.

According to psychologists, this is the only event in my life that really shaped me.