Straight to Gay: How a Stroke turned one man Gay

by Chris Birch

  'Hello?' her voice said happily.

  She’s ignoring my calls, I realised and put the phone down.

  When I told Tracey what had happened she was shocked.

  'Why would your Mum do that? I can’t understand it.’

  'You tell me.’

  'What about your Dad?'

  I looked to the side.

  'You have called your Dad, haven’t you Chris?'

  I shook my head. I knew how crazy it seemed but I wasn't sure how much Dad knew. If Mum had told him I was gay he might not be speaking to me either. If he didn’t know, as soon as I explained that Mum and I weren’t speaking I would need to tell him why. Dad had his own life and part of me didn’t want to put him out, or, admit to him how far I had fallen.

  'Look, whatever’s happened, one of your parents should be looking after you, call him.’

  Tracey pushed my phone into my hand.

  I couldn’t live with Tracey forever. I dialled Dad’s phone number and expected him to ignore my call too, so I was surprised to hear him answer the phone.

  ‘Chris, how are you?’

  His voice sounded warm, I instantly wanted to tell him the truth.

  ‘Well…not great. I need your help.’

  Chapter Sixteen: Further To Fall

  That morning I had woken with the overwhelming feeling that I had to get out. Adrenalin had forced me towards the train station, it was like I needed to escape something but I wasn’t sure what. I boarded a train, sat through the journey numbly. Time seemed to rush past. The train screeched to a halt and as if in unison, the bodies around me all raised from their seats at the same time and then slowly filed out.

  'This is the end of the line, all change here please,' a clipped voice announced over the train tannoy.

  I followed their trail, down the platform, through the barriers and out of the train station, as if I were being carried by the crowd. I found myself at Penarth Pier, a short walk from the station. As I traipsed towards the pier and then underneath the imposing towered entrance, I walked with a quicker pace, determined to get to the end. When my hands met the pier barrier nothing stood between me and the ocean but a few centimetres of planked wood. There was nothing on the horizon but the bluey, grey, line of the sea which blurred into the haze of the sky, it seemed so serene and clear. I imagined jumping off the end of the pier, feeling the pressure of the water engulf my body, the swirling rush of the sea flood my ears. All the noise from my own thoughts drowned out by the ocean.

  Jump, I told myself, jump in and you can finally have some peace.

  When I had called Dad I told him I had been sleeping on my friend’s sofa. My pride stopped me from admitting that I was homeless but I think he could hear the desperation in my voice. Dad told me to come and see him at his parent’s house because he was visiting them that day. When I arrived he gave me a big hug.

  'I don’t understand why you didn’t call us sooner.’

  I shrugged. It seemed so stupid now. Dad clearly wasn’t annoyed, I assumed he hadn’t heard that I was gay.

  'I don’t know why you and your Mum have fallen out but I can tell you one thing, you’re my son, it doesn’t matter what you have done, I will always be there for you.’

  ‘Thanks Dad’.

  It took all the restraint I had to stop myself from crying tears of relief.

  'I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping on your friend’s sofas, you know I would have let you stay at mine.’

  His Mum and Dad were waiting in the sitting room, when I walked in they both gave me a sympathetic smile, Dad had clearly told them about my situation. We had always spent more time with Mum’s side of the family so I wasn’t close to my Dad’s Mum and Dad. It felt odd that I was sharing such a desperate point in my life with them.

  I took in their unfamiliar sitting room, family photographs with distant relatives stared back at me. Christmas’, birthdays and Christenings that we had probably been invited to but hadn’t attended, our faces were missing from the images.

  My nan met my gaze and shot me a warm smile. She was slightly plump and petite, her greying hair was brushed neatly into a short bob.

  ‘Hi love,’ she said warmly and gave me a hug.

  ‘Hello Chris,’ my grandad got up from his seat to shake my hand.

  When I explained that I hadn’t been able to find work Nan suggested I come and live with her and my grandad. Dad invited me to stay with him too but his house was in the middle of nowhere, Nan and Grandad lived close to town so it would be easier to get a job nearby.

  ‘You’ll stay with us, won’t you?’ Nan said, as if it were already decided.

  I hadn’t seen her since I was a young teenager and yet, here I was, in her house that I had hardly visited, at my most vulnerable.

  'Are you sure? I won’t be a burden?' I asked.

  Despite being homeless my pride was still there, I didn’t want to seem like a charity case.

  'I’m not taking no for an answer, we would love to have you,' Nan said.

  She poured me another cup of tea and placed it on the side table next to me.

  'If you’re sure.’

  That afternoon Nan cooked a huge roast dinner, she piled more and more on my plate until I physically couldn’t eat another bite. I fell asleep in an armchair in front of a fire, with a big full belly and family around me. My prayers had been answered. The next day I unpacked my things and settled into my new surroundings.

  It felt good to finally be able to put my clothes in a wardrobe, to leave my toothbrush in a bathroom instead of in the glovebox of my car, to take my shoes off and leave them at the door. All the tiny things you do that let you know your home.

  One morning, as she made my breakfast, Nan finally asked the question that I was waiting for.

  ‘So, why did you and your Mum fall out?’

  She was frying some eggs on the stove, the sound of sizzling oil broke up the silence and I wondered how to answer. I could lie, I thought. But I was fed up with lies, besides, there was no point building a relationship with her if she was going to stop speaking to me in the end like Mum, Nan and Simon had. She might not like it but I had to tell the truth.

  ‘Well … to be honest … Nan, I told Mum I was gay and she didn’t approve.’

  Nan turned to face me, her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly open, a few seconds passed and my throat became dry as I wondered what she would say.

  ‘Are you then? Gay?’

  'I am, yes.’

  She’s going to tell me to get out of the house, I thought, she will ring Dad, tell him and he will never speak to me again. My stomach fluttered as I worried about where I would go.

  Nan turned her back to me, took the eggs out of the pan and plonked them on top of the plate next to her. She wiped her hands on her apron and then walked over and passed me the plate.

  ‘Here’s your breakfast love.’

  I realised I had been holding my breath waiting for her response, she sat down next to me.

  'My friend Peggy … you know the one, well her son’s gay, takes her shopping all the time, he’s a good boy...'

  As Nan rattled on I finally exhaled a loud sigh. She wasn’t frowning, or, shouting, reading her body language she didn’t seem awkward at all.

  ‘Eat up love it will get cold.’

  I smiled back at her.

  When I picked up my knife and fork she started turning the pages of the newspaper in front of her.

  'Doesn’t matter to me, we still love you,’ she said.

  As Nan focused on the newspaper I watched her. Her face wasn’t familiar to me, not like my mum’s mum. We hadn’t shared all the memories that I had with my other Nan. But in that moment I regretted all the Christmas’ and birthdays that we didn’t spend with her. She had shown me so much kindness, I wished I had of got to know her years before.

  ‘Have you seen what they’re saying in this paper…’

  Nan looked up.

  ‘What?’

  Sh
e met my gaze.

  ‘Thanks Nan.’

  It may have only been two small words but I think she knew exactly what I meant. She was the first family member who I had come out to that had accepted me and I felt a huge wave of gratitude for that.

  Nan and Grandad looked after me well, their house was cosy and it felt like they genuinely loved having me there. Every morning Nan would cook me breakfast with unlimited cups of tea and then in the afternoon she would take me out to a garden centre, or the supermarket, so I didn’t spend my time moping around.

  After three weeks of staying with Nan and Grandad I had begun to feel a little stronger.

  They told me I was welcome to stay for as long as I wanted but I knew I had to stand on my own two feet eventually, I was just putting off the inevitable.

  I still hadn’t found a job and so swallowed my pride and applied for state welfare. Nan helped me fill out all the forms and eventually I was allocated my own flat, just a few doors down from where Nan lived. I felt nervous about leaving my grandparent’s house, it had become like a safe haven for me, sheltered from the world outside. But I would only be a short walk from her house, if anything goes wrong you can come back here, I told myself.

  A few weeks later Nan, Grandad and Dad moved me into my new one-bedroom flat in Ystrad Mynach, the same village my grandparents lived in. It was a quiet, quaint place with just one road in and out. It was a fresh new start but instead of feeling excited, or happy, a sense of doom lingered. What if something goes wrong again?

  I sat on the sofa and took in my new surroundings. The huge window in the sitting room created a picture frame around the vibrant green view of the valley. Dad had bought me a leather sofa, put new tiles in the bathroom to replace the cracked and mouldy old ones and had laid down new laminate flooring. Nan and Dad had even offered to help pay my bills. They were doing everything they could for me but instead of feeling settled I was haunted by the fact it wasn’t mine. I had worked my whole life so taking handouts didn’t sit well with me, it made me feel like a failure. Even though I was entitled to them, claiming benefits seemed like failure to me because all I wanted to do was work. I sat alone in my flat and suddenly realised how much my life had changed, how far I had fallen. It was as if the silence of living on my own meant I could suddenly hear the negative voice in my head. The voice that said, ‘you’ve failed’ and ‘you’ll never find a job again’.

  Even though I had moved out Nan carried on taking me out for day excursions. I knew it was her way of keeping me busy and I didn’t mind, I hated the idea of being stuck in the flat all day on my own. On the occasions I was alone I would desperately search for things to fill my time. I would cook, clean, or, go for long sprawling walks around the town with no end destination and no purpose. I searched the newspaper for jobs every day and applied to anything and everything, cleaning jobs, bar work, admin. But with a whole town full of people who had been made redundant, thanks to the recession, there was stiff competition for every role. Every job application I sent that I didn’t hear back from and every interview I wasn’t invited to, tore apart any self-respect or confidence I had left.

  After almost a year of being unemployed I felt like I had been rejected from the working world, I was on the scrapheap. At the age of twenty-three, when most people are in their prime, it felt like my best days were behind me, I was of no use to anyone.

  The strange thing was, despite not having a job, I felt exhausted. One night, as I ate my dinner, I noticed my fork juddering in my left hand, it was so violent that I struggled to get any food from the bowl into my mouth. I’m just tired, I told myself and went to bed, I’ll sleep it off. But in the early hours of the next morning I woke suddenly with a crushing pressure bearing down on my skull, it was the familiar ache I had felt after the stroke. I made an emergency appointment to see a doctor that day.

  ‘You’ve suffered a mini-stroke,’ the doctor explained, ‘we also call them TIA, Transient Ischemic Attack’.

  I sunk further into my seat, it’s happening again I thought. As the doctor carried on talking I recalled the months I had spent after the stroke bedridden and in agony.

  ‘You’ve suffered a lack of oxygen to the brain because something has disrupted the blood supply. That’s what has caused the tiredness and tremors in your hand,’ he said.

  The doctor paused for a moment and I stared back at him blankly. I can’t go through this again, I thought, I can’t face it.

  ‘Look, Chris, these symptoms are short term, it won’t be like last time.’

  His voice had softened, he had noticed my worried expression.

  ‘What about the headaches? When will they go? Will it be months and months of pain like before?’

  ‘We can give you something for that, liquid morphine, drink it every four days and it will take the edge off any pain.’

  I was grateful that in one appointment I had been given a diagnosis and a remedy but as I stood to leave the doctor stopped me.

  ‘Chris, this has happened for a reason, have you been under any extra stress lately?’

  ‘I nodded and rolled my eyes.

  ’Yeah, you could say that’.

  ‘Well whatever it is, you need to stop it. These mini-strokes are a warning sign that you could suffer a stroke again in the future.’

  ‘You can’t have stress in your life Chris,’ he said.

  I rolled my eyes and left the room. How on earth am I supposed to get rid of stress? I wondered and thought about Mum, being unemployed and my council flat. My life is nothing but stress.

  The morphine immediately relieved my headaches but it made me feel groggy and lethargic so I spent most of my time in bed, or, laying on the sofa. I had hours and hours of spare time with nothing to fill it but painful memories, unanswered questions and reminiscing on my past life, full of friends, family and a purposeful job. When I had recovered from the stroke the first time I thought it was behind me. But now it felt like the stroke was a life sentence and I would never be able to lead a healthy, normal life.

  When I did work up the energy to apply for a job a voice in my head would disparage me with every word I wrote. No company is going to want you, you’re useless, it would say, you’re a failure, your own Mum wants nothing to do with you, why would a complete stranger?

  In the block of flats I lived in nobody seemed to work. Out of the window I would watch my elderly neighbours shuffle out to the local shop and then back, there only outing all week. I wondered if I would spend the rest of my life in those flats.

  Even if I did get a job I worried that the stress of it might make me suffer another stroke. I could lose my mobility, sight, or, speech, it was a lose, lose, situation. Taking morphine was just another regular reminder that I wasn’t normal, that my body was weaker than what it should be.

  I’m going to spend the rest of my life rotting away in this flat, alone, I told myself one morning. With another day of nothing stretched out in front of me I felt depressed, utterly miserable and pissed off with my horrible life.

  Painful tears stung my eyes and I began to pace the room, fight or flight had taken over, I was full of adrenalin, charged by my anger and despair. The flat was making me feel claustrophobic, I was drowning in my own thoughts.

  I need to do something. I can’t just sit here anymore.

  I quickly grabbed my wallet and keys, stormed out of my flat and slammed the door behind me.

  Out in the glare of the day’s sun I walked purposefully towards the train station, as I approached it a train pulled up, I walked into the carriage and sank into a window seat. I didn’t know where I was going but I needed to get as far away from the flat and my life, as possible. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the train to leave the station. It was like something had been following me and I willed the train to leave before whatever it was, caught up. The doors beeped to signal they were closing, as the train slowly chugged down the line I focused on the scenery outside my window. Houses, parks and motorways sped acr
oss my eye line, dozens of expectant faces waited at each station, they boarded the train and then departed but I stayed perfectly still.

  'Mummy, can I drive a train when I'm older?' a squeaky voice said from behind me.

  'You can do anything you want to darling if you work hard enough.’

  I rolled my eyes. Bullshit, I thought. I worked hard and look at me.

  My face scrunched into a long yawn and my eyes closed for a split second, God I’m tired, I thought. Since I had suffered the stroke life had become one long test, first recovering, then getting back to work, realising I was gay, coming out, losing my job, losing my family, becoming homeless. It had exhausted me. Dad, Nan and Grandad had come to my rescue now but it felt like there was nothing of me left to recover and I was too tired to try and build my life back up again. I had fought against every single challenge and lost, now I just wanted to give up.

  ‘This is Penarth, the last station stop, this is the end of the line,’ a recorded, female, voice announced.

  I repeated the words in my head, It’s the end of the line.

  Without paying any attention, in ten minutes, I had traipsed out of the station, towards the sea and onto Penarth pier. I had walked to the end of the pier with conviction but when I reached the barrier I wasn’t sure what I intended to do. I looked out at the ocean, it looked as if it went on forever, a steely grey blanket of water that hid a whole world underneath its seemingly unassuming surface. Suddenly, I felt a deep longing to be underneath the waves, to let the choppy water envelop me, the strong current carry me. To let the strength of the ocean take over so that I didn’t have to think anymore. No more waking up each morning and trying to force myself to think positively, no more trying to forget painful memories. I would finally be at peace.

  But then Dad’s face came to my mind. I couldn’t do it to him, leave him wondering what had happened to me. I wanted to end the suffering I was in but I couldn’t inflict a life of unanswered questions on Dad. He needs to know what’s happened to me. Dad needs to be able to have a funeral for me, then the family can mourn, I thought, practically. Instead of being shocked at my thoughts it felt totally natural. I knew exactly what I needed to do.