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Chapter Eight
Where Do We Go From Rock Bottom
[CONTINUED]
"Gin, you use the word 'impotent' to describe me. And I
guess that's the right word. But I shiver whenever I hear you say it."
His jaw muscles tightened. "I hate that word and everything
it implies. Being 'impotent' makes me feel like I'm just . . . taking
up space. That I'm powerless to do anything for you - or anyone."
For the first time since our ordeal began, I didn't try to comfort Keith or persuade him that his perceptions were wrong. Instead, I listened to him quietly and intently.
And because I did so, I finally shared some of his pain.
"Oh Keith," I sighed, watching him blur through my tears,
"we've both been so hurt . . . but we've turned away from one
another. Why? Why have we found it so hard to comfort each
other?"
The instant it was voiced, my anguished question pierced
our hearts, and tore down our defenses. Pulled by longing and
emptiness, we reached out to hold each other close.
And we cried, for all we had lost.
We sat, wrapped in each other's arms, until the sun came up
that morning. The dawn of a new day seemed to give us the energy
to look ahead.
Keith was the first to speak.
"Gin, I've been acting like a victim. Just giving up and letting impotence ruin my life. I don't want to keep doing that. I want
to do something to help myself. The only question is what."
He paused. "I don't know. Maybe I need to see Dr. Barrett
again."
"Keith, listen . . . it's not just you who needs to change. I do,
too. We both need help. And somehow," I patted his chest with a
fond hand, "we're going to find it."
Later that morning, I called Dr. Barrett. Haltingly, I brought
him up to date.
"We're using the shots, but things still aren't good. Now
Keith says he's lost his desire and doesn't even want to have sex
anymore. We need some help, Dr. Barrett, and . . . we don't know who to turn to."
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