Therapy
1 April
My first morning of the long Easter break was spent sorting Cyril out at the vets and me out at the doctors. Nothing extraordinary for either of us. He was due for a check up and I've got my itchiness back again.
The afternoon took me for another regression session with Margaret.
The first sticking point I hit was Robert's funeral in 1988 and that allowed me to let go of a lot of grief around the subject of AIDS and the fear that we have all lived with and the deaths of so many friends and colleagues.
Then, there was much grief over my teenage years. I saw myself not accepting my sexuality and cutting myself off from love. I saw myself lusting and loving after my contemporaries. I've written elsewhere about Mike and, later on, Clive and the first Ross. I haven't acknowledged anywhere the other school chums for whom I conceived a passion.
Prime among these was another David. He arrived in the locality at the end of the Second Year of secondary school. Blond, blue-eyed, sporting mesomorph with a sunny nature and a charming sensibility. We had a sort of friendship during our fourteenth year. I fumbled him a little on a few occasions, wanked off in front of him once. I liked him, sort of. But I craved his body more. I remember the shape and smell of it now. I saw him in the showers at school after games. His arse was peachy, plump, covered in a blonde down. I would have done anything for it. Had I known about the possibility of shagging him senseless, I would have wanked myself silly at the thought of it.
But the more I conceived a passion for him and a craving for other boys, the more I realised the danger I was in. And I turned away from love and the possibility of love. I hardened my heart. I tempered my intellect. And, oh, the pain of it. I am only just re-dressing the balance of it as I open my heart to Ross.
I also spent a goodly while letting go of Mrs Elliott, the teacher who was a trial and tribulation to me during my third year at Primary School. I think she made me feel stupid and I think she made me cry and feel ashamed of crying in public. Whatever the truth of it, and I have very little way of knowing for sure what is the past and what is my adult construction, I let go of some 40 year old, long pent-up emotions most of which seemed concentrated around my shoulders.
The most difficult part of letting her go was to know that she too was a soul on a journey, that I too triggered something for her, that the experience gave me part of the strength that I carry with me to adulthood and that I have to forgive her and let her go in love. I guess only time will tell how successful I have been but I do feel as though some weight has been lifted from my chest and shoulders.
Ross arrived later and we kicked back with food, wine and The Truman Show which is a riveting film much to be recommended. It was written by Andrew Niccol who wrote and directed Gattaca which I thoroughly enjoyed last year.
It is like a complete
counselling session. Truman lives his life not knowing there is anything wrong. Then,
he begins to feel that not everything adds up, that there is an outside force at work
moulding his world. He starts to check out his theory, talking with others, amending
his behaviour, looking hard at his feelings and amassing a body of evidence to suggest
that there is something to break free from. And eventually he does. Each time he tries
to make a bid for freedom something holds him back until the final break brings the
most distressing challenges of all. And then he confronts the inner demon who controls
him. Even then he could go back and accept the world that has been constructed for
him. But he chooses to go through the door into a world that we never see. Huge cheers!!
The only down moment of the whole day was the discovery that Cyril has been using my
CD shelves as the place where he marks his domestic territory. Maybe I'm being coy here.
He's been weeing all over my CDs much as he did with Ross's
last year when Ross was sorting his stuff out
prior to moving them out. I have reminded Cyril that he's not yet beyond being made into
a very fetching muff.