Two Roads Back Together, page 5
Tessa slowly nodded. She didn’t utter a word, simply waited for Shy to finish voicing their thoughts.
“I feel like I’m back on the schoolyard again. The kids would keep calling me that word, over and over. Like it was my birth name. Am I crazy?” Shy looked for some kind of validation from Tessa, but her expressions remained neutral.
Shy flopped back on the couch and pounded their fist, once again, into the cushion. Their mind swam in a flurry of unrelated thoughts, before becoming present as a tail of sweat slid along the base of their spine.
“I think you are under a significant amount of stress, but no, you’re not crazy. I want to dig a little into your workplace where you overheard your colleagues using inappropriate language. Do you recall another time where such language was directed at you?” Tessa assured.
"Not recently, per se. I think more than anything its just old things."
"Would you mind sharing?"
"Ah, I can't think of anyth—"
"Relax, Shy."
"Mostly when I'm alone and its quiet, and dark. Sometimes, late into the night. In my dreams…"
"Can you recall a specific instance in one of your dreams?"
“Last night—
Shy resituated on the couch before speaking again. "I see a girl. Her face Is bruised. Pretty badly. She’s just lying there on the pavement and I’m standing over her. My hands are being tied behind my back roughly and I see flashing lights. Then my mom starts shouting at me, telling me I’m a disgrace. But I don’t care about her, or that I’m being arrested, I just keep looking across the street to the bookstore. But, I can’t move.”
“Who is the young girl?” the therapist probed. “Someone imaginary or someone you know in real life?”
“She looks like one of my bullies from elementary school.”
“So this dream was based on an actual skirmish you had? What happened?”
“Yeah, it was a pretty bad fight that summer.” Shy leaned back onto the couch. “I was at the bus stop directly across the street from Pops’ bookstore. This girl walks up to me and starts pushing me and calling me a faggot. She has me by several inches and is thin-framed. I wanted to say something but instead I walk away. Then I felt the sharp tug of my ponytails. My eyes narrowed. Blood bubbled beneath my skin. Teeth clenched. Let go! I demand. Make me! she responds.
“So I stop mid-stride and turn, overpower her hands gripping my ponytail ends. I swat her arms back, move to face her, and I pounce on her. She falls backward and I hold on as we both descend to the warm pavement.
“Hooking my knees and legs into her sides, locking her in place, I am seething. Dark-colored blood is oozing from my lip and onto my tongue. I go ballistic and begin pounding her face. Her tiny hands attempt to catch and thwart my blows but to no effect.
“I grunt and smile through my blood-scarred lips. Invincibility, dominance, and revenge fueled me into a trance that her wailing, high-pitched screams of help couldn’t break. Stop it! Get off me! she demands.
“I remember feeling my face light in a grin. Make me, I whisper in her ear. I admit I liked that feeling of asserting my dominance in her face.
“Just as quickly as the fight started, it ended. I remember feeling someone’s arm whip me up into the air. It was Pops. That wasn’t the first fight she’d broken up with me. But it was the last fight before things really changed, and everything felt out of my control.
“When my mother walked inside the bookstore to pick me up, she saw Pops tending to my bruises and freaked out. She snatched my arm and berated Pops, threatening her if she ever got within a foot of me my mother would call the police. Then my mother forbade me from ever stepping foot inside Pops’ bookstore. That last fight was too much for my mother. She ended up sending me away to a church camp somewhere in eastern Texas for the rest of the summer ‘for a change of scenery.’ My mom said it wasn’t a punishment, but it felt like one at the time. It was supposed to ‘civilize’ me, you know, remove the demons. It didn’t work.”
“Up to that point you had a few fights, some discipline issues with your mom, and then you’re in a major fight where someone pulled you out before more trouble ensued. Seemed like a pretty eventful summer,” Tessa said.
Shy tapped one foot slowly and clinched their fist inside their lap.
“Shy? Can you tell me where your mind went just now?”
Shy bowed their head. “I really miss Pops.”
“I certainly can understand why. Pops sounds like a pivotal person in your childhood.” Dr. Steadman allowed Shy to experience their emotions as the city sounds softly seeped through the office window.
“She never made me feel like I was some freak but a normal kid trying to figure things out. I remember Pops telling me, ‘Shy, don’t be afraid of it.’ That helped.”
“Afraid of what?” the therapist asked.
“My masculine nature.”
The therapist’s eyebrows raised, but she remained silent.
“But it was just easier to hide him.” Shy coughed, trying to swallow the lump in their throat. “Sebastian. He needs to stay where he is.”
“And where is that?” Tessa asked.
“Here.” Shy cupped their right hand over their gut.
“We’ve talked about Sebastian before,” Tessa reminded Shy. “Why do you separate yourself from your masculine side and give him his own identity? Is it to protect yourself? And from what threat?”
“I just think he is dangerous.”
“Because…?”
Shy shot up to standing. “Because I can’t control my— his impulses and urges. He makes me feel all of these erratic emotions. The bad memories, all of them, are tied to him.”
Tessa tilted backward in her chair which led Shy to step away from her and over to the window. Their back remained turned to the therapist.
“Shy, you are showing the classic signs of jostling two distinct identities of yourself. Shy is your veiled self and who you’ve chosen to present in the world. Sebastian is your impulsive, more honest self,” Tessa spoke. “This need to separate and even erase aspects of yourself that you find problematic, that’s your coping mechanism.
“A few weeks ago, you mentioned that you feared a part of yourself sometimes. I presume some time at the end of that summer, your 13-year-old self decided it was too painful to be that version of yourself. As you stated, you sought relief. You learned to take fragments of that part of yourself and placed them deep into the recesses of your mind so you could forget. That was how you coped with it then, and how you are trying to cope with it now. Over the years, you’ve learned to accept the numbness and you purposefully slipped into a new designer image—Captain Shy Cole, warrior, Instructor of the Year, admired at home and at work. The new, modified Shy, is pleasing and safe. This version of Shy makes you feel validated.
“We all like to be liked. The trouble comes when we sacrifice our real selves only to win people’s attention and affection. When we constantly crave for others to validate us and our worth. This, what you have endured and keep enduring—”
Shy turned around as Tessa paused. She really sees me.
“—is too high a price,” she continued. “The real question I leave you with is this: what version of Shy do you want to be? Only you get to define that.”
Something unlocked within Shy. Until now, Shy just wanted to survive. They never gave thought to try to define who the real Shy was. No one had ever asked them to in such a direct way before.
“Shy, that’s our time for today. Let’s pick this up in two weeks, okay?” Tessa stood and moved a little closer to Shy, her smile gentle. “In the meantime, I really want you to work on staying in the present, get out of your head some. I don’t want you to undervalue the good things that are around you. And remember, I’m just a text or call away if you need me.”
“Thanks Tessa.” Shy took a deep breath, and let their tension and fears go with their exhale. “I’ll try.”
Chapter 5
Mornings were always a struggle, and the shorter October days didn’t help. At least today Shy was only a few minutes late to work. Their mind felt like it was paddling through molasses. They’d jotted down what they could remember of last night’s confusing dream, the important bits and pieces, and done their usual morning reflection. Shy also made a mental note to discuss it with Tessa at their session scheduled for the end of the week. The habit of journaling had gotten easier over the past two months, and Shy enjoyed organizing their thoughts on the page. However, having to wake up so early in order to journal didn't mean Shy loved it, and the brisk morning air made them wish they'd chosen a career that allowed them to sleep in a little before work.
Shy worked in an open floor office which the troops affectionately called “the bullpen.” It was a unique mix of organized symmetry and chaos, with 42-inch tall padded mock walls aligned in a somewhat makeshift maze in the middle of the room. Behind each angular blue wall was a one-person cubicle only big enough to fit a desk, chair, and a few office accessories. Along the perimeter of the wall the workspace and views were much more desirable, so those were kept for the senior instructors. Shy’s work desk was positioned along this wall, directly across from the training director’s office.
Shy was one of two senior officers in the training department; Rihannon was the other. A much more polished leader, Rihannon was a better fit for the training director position. Shy gladly took the senior instructor’s reins where their talent truly shined and taught junior military officers the unique craft of becoming a thinking warrior. Since Shy had assumed this position, they had won multiple academic and training unit awards for innovative training and curriculum design.
Most instructors proudly displayed their prestigious awards and certificates on their shelves, alongside happy pictures of their families and other personalized keepsakes. But Shy was not most people. Anyone who came to Shy’s cubicle was struck by the lack of warmth, the aesthetically sanitized workspace. No family or pet pictures. No swag. Only a single nameplate was affixed to their cabinet reading CPT (Promotable) Shy Cole, Senior Instructor. Perhaps it was too impersonal. Rihannon often joked Shy was biding time until they left the unit. But Shy liked a minimalist workspace; they never had a reason to clutter it up with personal items. It certainly wasn’t home.
Within the line of sight from their desk was the Instructor Wall of Fame, which was positioned along the exterior wall near the entrance to Rihannon’s office. Here was each instructor’s photo, prominently displayed. Every one of Shy’s instructor cadre smiled in their picture. But in Shy’s picture, they seemed distant, only a slight upward pull of their lips. Maybe if one could make out a grin, if they stared long enough. Still, one would say Shy exuded professionalism and confidence. But upon closer inspection, one just might realize how uncomfortable Shy really was. One would not notice at a quick glance. The giveaway was in Shy’s eyes—they gazed emotionlessly at the camera.
Rihannon walked out of her office and over to Shy’s desk, placing a folder with a signed leave form inside. “A little late again this morning, huh?” she jabbed, resting her hip against Shy’s desk.
Shy whipped their eyes up to Rihannon, catching briefly on her Major rank, a gold oak leaf, the result of a recent promotion which signaled she now outranked Shy. “Yeah. I had a long night last night. I didn’t really sleep well.”
“Everything alright?” Rihannon pointed to her open office door. “We can talk about it over some coffee if you’d like.”
Shy keyed in their login password and pulled out a white binder that read: LEAD INSTRUCTOR, CLASS 10-11. They shook their head. “Nah, I’ll muscle through. I need to get ready for class.”
“Understood.” Rihannon walked a few steps away before lightly warning Shy. “If you’re going to be late, just make sure you call and give me a head’s up. I can’t look out for you if you don’t give me an alibi.”
“Thanks, Rihannon. I appreciate it,” Shy genuinely responded.
Rihannon winked at Shy, then went back to her office. Shy returned an awkward smile before bashfully looking away at their computer screen. They tried not to breathe too deeply as the soft perfume slowly disappeared.
You think she knows?
Man, you are so obvious. Of course she knows. So what are you gonna do about it?
Nothing. I can’t. You’re trouble and you know it.
But you said you were going to do things differently. Work on being that genuine self, like Dr. Tessa suggested.
Yeah, but I can’t do things that will lose me my job. You know that. I can’t just be all open and free with no consequences.
I deserve better than this. You deserve better and you know it. Let me out of here, Shy, and I can prove it to you. Let. Me. Out!
Shy peeked at their watch. Five minutes until class. I’m not having this conversation right now. Besides, Dr. Tessa also said I should get out of my head, so go away. They hopped up, grabbed their binder, and pulled their access card from the computer before rushing to the classroom. The stress of midterm preparations consumed cadre and students alike. “Excellence” was the standard and to perform less than excellent would affect the trajectory of the student’s careers, a fact that was not lost by anyone. Shy wouldn’t allow their students to fail.
“THANKS, DR. STEAD— um, Tessa, for seeing me at the last minute. I really appreciate it.”
“Not a problem. It just so happens my client had to cancel at the last minute. Glad we could slip you in today.” She walked over with two Perrier water bottles and handed one to Shy, who was already seated in their usual spot on the couch.
“Thanks,” Shy politely replied.
Tessa situated herself in her chair, leaned back and crossed her legs. After removing some lint from her skirt, unnoticed by Shy, she examined their fidgeting hands intently.
“My mom called me last night,” Shy began. “It didn’t go well, which is nothing new.”
“What are you feeling right now?”
“Lots of resentment. I couldn’t do it.” Shy shook their head. “I don’t know how to tell her. The words. They just froze at the back of my tongue. After we hung up, I started beating myself up. Every once in a while I get these brave moments and think that I can do it, but it all shrinks away in the veil of her voice. I guess I’ve convinced myself that living to her expectations is easier. It makes her happy and keeps the peace.” They shook their heads, and the creases in their forehead and furrowed eyebrows deepened. “I don’t want to disappoint her. Not again.”
“Shy, I want you to take a moment and just focus on your breath control. Close your eyes and follow my lead. I want you to imagine a small box…” Shy allowed Tessa’s voice to guide them through the breathing drill. Shy stopped fidgeting as they kicked their legs out and crossed their ankles. The low outside sounds and white noise in the office were clearer than before.
“Let’s go back to the phone conversation you had with your mother last night. Do you remember what you two were discussing before she went silent and changed subjects?”
“Not really. But in her reply she called me ‘baby girl’ again. She usually does that. But this time, after I heard it, I told her that I was not her baby girl, and that I will never be. And she got silent and then started talking about something else.” Shy awkwardly chuckled. “She is truly a pro when it comes to dodging the subject. It feels so got-damn dismissive. Like whatever I’m saying means nothing. Like I’m a little petulant child running on her nerves.”
“Shy, what do you want from your mother?” Tessa asked.
“I want her to see me,” Shy said.
“It’s also important that you see yourself first.”
“I do, but it’s not the person I think I am.” Shy took a long drink of the Perrier. “I don’t really feel normal. It's like I'm constantly wearing a bodysuit I can't take off. Every day. It’s like I’m trapped.” Shy took a deep breath. “Gawd, I must sound crazy.”
“No, but it does sound to me like you might be experiencing what we call body dysmorphia. This is common in those who are on the non-binary transgender spectrum.”
“I don’t think I’m really transgender.” Shy shook their head then elaborated. “I don’t have a strong, persistent desire to live as a man or a woman.”
Tessa slowly nodded as Shy completed their thoughts. “Transgender is a hierarchy that includes non-binary and binary classes. One who is transgender binary associates with one dominant gender, male or female. You are describing the non-binary class, those that are not exclusively male or female. Those who identify as ‘transmasculine non-binary’ may associate with more androgynous or gender-neutral descriptors. Some may better identify as ‘gender fluid,’ where their gender expression—the way they look and act—changes frequently. It’s a wide spectrum or sliding scale depending on your perspective.
“Transgender is still the overarching hierarchy you’d fall into, as you were assigned ‘female’ at birth. But there is a difference between your female sex characteristics and your gender identity. Your mind is interpreting your reality through the prism of maleness. Do you feel that by embracing Sebastian that you would inadvertently dismiss who Shy has become?”
There’s no place for him out here. Shy sat, quietly thinking. “I can’t embrace Sebastian right now.”
“No matter how you feel, if you don’t address this, you will always be at war with yourself. The panic. The shame. The lies you tell yourself and those around you. It is a choice.”
“So you really don’t think I’m crazy,” Shy stated, purposely avoiding Tessa’s insights.
“No. I don’t have any data to suggest that you are unstable,” Tessa answered curtly before redirecting her client. “Shy, this may seem a bit tangential, but have you been able to find a support group of people who share similar experiences?”
“How? I’m in the middle of an eternal purgatory of tumbleweeds and Turkey Buzzards,” Shy quipped about the dry, desert climate. Their hands stopped fidgeting.
