“I have been married for twelve years, I have three children. I am in a period of doubt, I face contradictory currents, I am a territory occupied to me alone. I am still very much in love with my wife, yet I accumulate insomnia and anxiety. I tell myself it’s because of the job. I dream of men, not women, I have the impression that my unconscious is trying to transmit something to me, except that I do not know what. I put it under the carpet, I reassure myself: I did not get married either for convenience or default, I do not pretend. I feel that there is a stake in this area, but I do not know how to do it.
“Once the moment is consumed, I am steeped in guilt. I am also very physically attracted to my wife. I’m completely lost. “
I have lunch with my best friend, who is homosexual. I talk to him a little and collapse, in tears. He explains to me that I must go see a shrink. This approach terrorizes me, I am afraid to open the Pandora’s box. At the same time, I am tired of always having to give the change. I finally walk through the door of a psychiatrist’s office. I have a lump in my throat, no more saliva, my hands wet. I tell anything for forty-five minutes. At the end, the psychiatrist looks at me half-consterned half-amused: “Now you will really tell me why you came.” I stammered something about my sexual identity. He assures me that “all this is not serious, we’ll talk about it next time,”and leave me with my questions: am I gay? Bi? Do I have to leave my wife?
I am looking to meet boys, I want to try. I go to sites, I take a thousand precautions. Once the moment is consumed, I am steeped in guilt. I am also very physically attracted to my wife. I’m completely lost.
I am going to a seminar on water and sanitation in Toulouse for my work. At noon, we have lunch on large round tables. There remains a place next to me.
I finish the entry. In the hot dish, it takes the empty place. I get an electric shock in the chest. He is handsome, brown, young, my heart is speeding up, I never felt that way. He wears a beige sweater that gives him an air of sheep keeper of the Pyrenees, counterbalanced by the delicacy of his hands. His name is Antoine. We start talking about water, of course. We agree to meet after the conference, but I have a train to take, we are not in the same room, and I am obliged to send him a message to tell him that I can not see him again.