Passing the Bar

Friday night was my big date with my therapist into the land of bars. I had had a difficult week and was not looking forward to yet another emotional challenge. Anxiety building.

We went to a local club which was recommended to me by friends. For better or worse, my whole image of a lesbian bar came from watching the L Word. This place was small with lots of mirrors trying to make it look bigger. Bar, pool table, darts. But fortunately we were early and I was able to find a comfortable spot - my back towards a wall, close to the door. (Yeah, no issues there)

The place quickly began filling with women, a wide range of style and age. I was enjoying the people watching and was fairly calm. A waitress had delivered our first drinks but then therapist asked if I thought I could manage going up to the bar to get some more. And I did. Folks were polite and let me up to the bar. A moment of claustrophobia but I was quickly moving away.

But then this large, inked, pierced woman turned quickly and wound up spilling half her beer down the front of me. I looked at her in a flashing moment of fear, thinking she was going to hit me just for being in her way. But instead she was very sweet, apologized profusely and began vigorously trying to wipe the beer off my chest - an action I think I enjoyed a little more than I should have.

I now reeked of beer but I was still doing surprising okay. Therapist and I sat and chatted. I was not quite comfortable but not really uncomfortable either. I think recently divorced therapist was enjoying being in the company of women. As was I.

And then I noticed two women making out, obviously very into each other. And at first I was smiling to myself thinking “ain’t love grand?” and then the next moment I was holding onto the table, anxiety quickly rising. I tried every grounding technique therapist had taught me. I told myself to breathe deeply. I close my eyes and visualized my calming place. I talked to myself trying to convince myself that these women were in a very safe place to show affection. But I knew I was losing the battle. So we left.

Therapist drove me home, talking me back to a better place. And we talked about how the night had mostly been a success, especially navigating though the smell of alcohol, although I suspect being in a room with women made it much easier.

When we arrived at my house, she turned and said to me “You are holding onto to so much pain.” Yeah, I suppose. And then she asked “Will you ever be able to forgive yourself or do you continue living this hell because you think you deserve it?”

I know that that is really the heart of the issue. I am holding onto to this because I can’t forgive myself for what happened to her. I see it in my head. I feel it in my heart. Everyday. The guilt is both a weight and a comfort.

I am wondering if this is a demon I want to get past, or one that I need.