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“No.” I suddenly felt irritated. “What’s happening with Kathy has got nothing to do with my childhood.”
“Oh, really?” Ruth sounded disbelieving. “Trying to please someone unpredictable, someone emotionally unavailable, uncaring, unkind—trying to keep them happy, win their love—is this not an old story, Theo? A familiar story?”
I clenched my fist and didn’t speak.
Ruth went on hesitantly, “I know how sad you feel. But I want you to consider the possibility that you felt this sadness long before you met Kathy. It’s a sadness you’ve been carrying around for many years. You know, Theo, one of the hardest things to admit is that we weren’t loved when we needed it most. It’s a terrible feeling, the pain of not being loved.”
She was right. I had been groping for the right words to express that murky feeling of betrayal inside, the horrible hollow ache, and to hear Ruth say it—“the pain of not being loved”—I saw how it pervaded my entire consciousness and was at once the story of my past, present, and future. This wasn’t just about Kathy: it was about my father, and my childhood feelings of abandonment; my grief for everything I never had and, in my heart, still believed I never would have. Ruth was saying that was why I chose Kathy. What better way for me to prove that my father was correct—that I’m worthless and unlovable—than by pursuing someone who will never love me?
I buried my head in my hands. “So all this was inevitable? That’s what you’re saying—I set myself up for this? It’s fucking hopeless?”
“It’s not hopeless. You’re not a boy at the mercy of your father anymore. You’re a grown man now —and you have a choice. Use this as another confirmation of how unworthy you are—or break with the past. Free yourself from endlessly repeating it.”
“How do I do that? You think I should leave her?”
“I think it’s a very difficult situation.”
“But you think I should leave, don’t you?”
“You’ve come too far and worked too hard to return to a life of dishonesty and denial and
emotional abuse. You deserve someone who treats you better, much better—”
“Just say it, Ruth. Say it. You think I should leave.”
Ruth looked me in the eyes. She held my gaze. “I think you must leave. And I’m not saying this as
your old therapist—but as your old friend. I don’t think you could go back, even if you wanted to. It might last a little while perhaps, but in a few months something else will happen and you’ll end up back here on this couch. Be honest with yourself, Theo—about Kathy and this situation—and everything built on lies and untruths will fall away from you. Remember, love that doesn’t include honesty doesn’t deserve to be called love.”
I sighed, deflated, depressed, and tired.
“Thank you, Ruth—for your honesty. It means a lot.”
Ruth gave me a hug at the door as I left. She’d never done that before. She was fragile in my arms,
her bones so delicate; I breathed in her faint flowery scent and the wool of her cardigan and again I felt like crying. But I didn’t, or couldn’t, cry.
Instead I walked away and didn’t look back.
I caught a bus back home. I sat by the window, staring out, thinking of Kathy, of her white skin,