bi_janus

Nicolosi

Nicolosi*

 

I was in the familiar office for the last time. My father was no longer convinced that I could be cured. I had come to believe that therapy is the construction and sharing of stories, and I had realized that the good psychologist had spun my story before I had first arrived at his office. He was a Freudian, who had wasted no time—I mean in the first fifteen minutes of the first appointment—in telling me that my desire for other boys was the result of an overbearing, cloying mother and a distant, disapproving father. Once I acknowledged that story, he said, I would then stop seeking approval of other boys. I thought his whole story ludicrous from the get-go. I didn’t want their approval; I wanted other things from them. Now, two years later…

 

"I'm still meeting guys from the web."

 

"Well don't beat yourself up about it. These impulses are hard to resist; it will take time."

 

At least he didn’t scourge me; he always seemed so reasonable, if unchanging. "It's been two years."

 

"Two years with me after seventeen with your parents."

 

“You have your story, but here’s my story. I’m gay, and always have been. For two years the space between my reality and your story has grown wider. My mom isn’t possessive or cloying. She encourages me to try things—not the things that worry you—and to make friends. My whole life I’ve gone on sleep-overs, vacations with friends, and school club meetings. She has a normal parental interest in my life, but isn’t trying to run it.

 

My parents are partners, and they don’t control each other. When you first started spinning your story, I began to look at pictures and videos my parents had shot. My dad holding me, teaching me to ride a bike, helping me with homework, and, when I was a baby, letting me sleep on his chest. He doesn’t approve of everything I do—thankfully, he doesn’t know everything I do—but he’s never made me feel bad about myself. That’s my story.”

 

“Yet, he sent you to me.”

 

“He found you because I was tired of being bullied in school and being different, not because he didn’t like me. You’re a Freudian, right, and Catholic?”

 

“I guess you could say that, but I’ve come a long way beyond Freud. And yes, I’m a faithful Catholic. Are you happier now? Are you still upset about being different?”

 

“At first, I came to you because I was worried, but after a short while I was more curious about your story than anything else. I’ve been taking science classes. I’ve learned that in science, you don’t start with a story; you start with an honest question. You have only your story, and now I have an honest question. If being gay makes me ill, how come my grades are good, I love my brothers and sisters, I have few but good friends who are okay with me, and I see a future for me just as I am? I’m horny and like getting off with other boys and just talking to them, too. For now, I find many of them on the net, but that won’t always be the way it is. I’m off to college next year—lots of in-person guys of my persuasion.”

 

“You’ll never be happy.”

 

“I’m taking the another step toward happiness—not coming to you any more. Your story has exhausted itself.”

 

*Google Joseph Nicolosi. He died this year.

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Thanks for the nudge, bi_janus.  Joseph Nicolosi was a founding member of NARTH, and the originator of “Reparative Therapy” 'through which he "helped" thousands of individuals with unwanted same sex attraction.' -- as stated on the website Catholic Therapists.com, which in itself is an oxymoron...

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Bravo, James.

Perhaps, one day, we'll all be enlightened enough to realise that sexuality isn't a choice, and we are what we are.... Here's hoping.

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