Page 38 of Catching Kyle

I furrow my brow as I chew onmy pizza.

When we first broke up two years ago, I missed him often, jerking off to photos him for months on end. But then one day, attraction for him just faded away. And after that, it was easy to remember what an asshole he was. So pretty soon I didn’t miss him at all.

“No,” I answer honestly. “Not at all.”

“Interesting,” she says in her ‘we’re onto something’ tone. “Then tell me. Whatactuallybothered you about seeing him?”

And here’s the reason why she continues to be my sponsor. She knows where to dig, like my brain is a muscle and she’s the masseuse, massaging out my poor thinking.

“I…” I picture Stephen, that ginger he cheated on me with, howjealousI was when I first discovered the affair. I remembered how David was almost more animated around Stephen and his other friends, and how every time I tried to be a part of their group, they would deflate a little, like it was a drag to have me around. And seeing David’s face when this happened—it was like he was embarrassed of me.

“I think… over the years, I wanted to understand why David did what he did, and eventually I just concluded it was because I wasn’t good enough for him. But I stillwantedto be good enough. I wanted to prove I was worthy enough to be dateable by winning him over. So I think seeing him was so hard because I was hoping for him to finally see me as equal to him and his friends—to finally have this proof. But he didn’t. I was hoping he’d have changed, but he was the same old David.”

“Is David somebody you can change?” She asks.

I let out a heavy sigh. “No. Step One says I’m powerless over anything but myself.”

“So even if you were to change—to be this person that you think David likes—do you think David would like you?”

I play out a scenario in my head of me becoming the version of myself I think he’d respect. I can’t imagine a positive ending. I try another. The same thing. Eventually, I exhaust all possibilities.

“I don’t think he would,” I say.

She nods softly. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

There’s a weight pressing on my chest and bitter taste in my mouth. Everything feels dark all of the sudden. If I can never be good enough for someone like David, then what hope is there for me?

I grimace slightly. “I can accept this, but why does it feel so bad? I thought accepting what I can’t change was supposed to be relieving. But I feel like shit.”

“Because it’s loss, dear,” she says. “And you have to acknowledge that. You lost what you hoped to have with David. And that grief is just as real as any other.”

My eyes water, and I take a shaky breath. I grab hold of my third slice of pizza, but I’m not hungry enough to take a bite. I don’t even feel sick or anything—just numb.

For so long, I tried to ingratiate myself with David and his friends, hoping that in doing so I would finally be that ‘cool’ gay, the one that everyone hits on, that everyone wants to sleep with. That’s how I saw them, and with David, it seemed achievable. And once I achieved this, I would be worthy. And the acknowledgement that this is no longer sound logic makes everything around me look ashen.

“If chasing David and his friends is no longer a viable way to feel worthy, then what is?”

Susan smiles. “What a great question. Have you ever considered that you already are worthy? That there’s nothing you need to do?”

“That’s what I keep hearing in meetings and from my therapist,” I say. “But it’s not sinking in. How do I get it to sink in?”

She thins her lips and squints down at her hands clasped on the table. She looks up at me, her curly black hair immaculate. “You’ve spent so long thinking about what David and his friends would think of you. Let them go. Focus on yourself. Ask yourself: what doyouthink of you?”

The question makes me want to curl into a ball. “I… I don’t know.”

She leans back and crosses her leg. “Then you have a wonderful opportunity. You get to discover yourself.”

I try and chew on the question, ‘what do I think of myself’, but it’s as sturdy as a chicken bone.

“What if I don’t even know where to start?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Are there people in your life that you feel you can be your complete authentic self with?”

I lean forward and start eating that third piece of pizza, my hunger steadily returning.

My mind jumps to Amani, as well as some of my other writing group friends from college. But I don’t keep much in touch with them anymore. There’s Skye, my new writing friend, and she’s awesome…and then there’s Kyle. Which doesn’t make any sense. I’m tryingnotto have feelings for him.

“My friends Amani and Skye,” I say. “You as well.”