Today I visited my lesbian friend Helen. 25 years ago she was married with a man, she had a heterosexual life, 2 boys, a house with a pool and a young homosexual experience when she was 19. All that, her repressed desires exploded one year ago when she realized the reasons of her depression were women. And after 7 years of going to therapy (the psychologist told her being gay was wrong) and after several antidepressants, she had the courage to discover herself, to tell her ex-husband she wasn’t happy with him because women liked her more and tell her sons her real orientation.
I told her all the pressure I’m feeling right now, the applications I’m doing in Ottawa, the idea of moving there, looking for an apartment, checking jobs here in Montreal, studying for my English test, I can’t stand live with my roommates, not have a girlfriend and of course, the impact Diane had over me.
What she told me was right, I can’t spend my energy on her, she doesn’t want to see me because she’s scared and a friendship is impossible before her eyes for the feeling we felt that night. “Diana, turn the page”. And I think, talking to her was the best therapy I had in weeks. I stop seeing my personal therapist for just a simple reason: I don’t see the point in paying 50$ the hour for crying in front a person who studied 3 years who just tells me “what you feel is completely normal”.
When I’m at her place, I feel like home, well, more like in family. I don’t have one, a part from my cat. Nobody can enter easily into my life, after what happened with my ex. She told she would help me to recover my personal belongings the bitch is keeping in her horrible condo.
She has a big house and I told her if she could keep some of my boxes (summer stuff like clothes and tennis). I had some pictures of the bitch and me. I showed her, she looked them and said “she doesn’t look like very pretty to me” and “I don’t see the love and kindness in her, in her face or eyes, I see more someone who crashed you”. When I saw her pics, after, let’s say 8 months, I didn’t shake or had that feeling of guilty or sadness, I just saw a woman who I wasn’t in love anymore and wasn’t so hot after all. And the sex wasn’t good either anyway. But relationships are like this, nothing last forever.
I always see Helen more like a mother than a friend. We drunk a bit of wine, we ate turkey and we watched the tv. on her bed. When we were there, I forget what a pleasure is to watch something so stupid with somebody you relay on.