The Day Gavin Found Out — The Truth I’d Been Hiding

Gavin has been my mental health nurse since the day my world nearly ended.

He came into my life because I was in crisis — because I reached a point where I didn’t want to be here anymore.

He knew about my depression, the darkness, the hopelessness.

He knew about the guilt, the heartbreak, the fear.

 

But he didn’t know about the cancer.

 

Not at first.

 

I kept that part of my life locked away, tucked behind everything else I was dealing with. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t want more pity, more sad looks, more people treating me like I was made of glass.

Because the guy i had hurt /catfished  gave me some home truth, 

This was my pity party and i would struggle alone 

He didnt believe the cancer

The beatings

My sadness 

I was already drowning.

I didn’t want him — or anyone — to see just how deep the water really was.

 

So I hid it.

 

I let him talk to me about my mental health without ever mentioning the treatments, the hospital appointments, the scans, the physical pain.

I kept the cancer world separate from the crisis world because somehow that felt safer.

Less overwhelming.

Less humiliating.

 

But secrets don’t stay hidden forever.

 

When he finally found out, he looked at me like he was piecing together a puzzle that suddenly made sense.

 

He didn’t get angry.

He didn’t roll his eyes.

He didn’t say, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Id told him about 'Rick' who id Catfished and what he'd said 

 

He just looked sad.

Not pity-sad — understanding sad.

Like he finally saw the full weight I’d been carrying.

 

Like he finally realised it wasn’t just trauma and heartbreak and guilt.

It was chemo.

It was pain.

It was fear of dying.

My trauma 

It was exhaustion on levels I couldn’t even explain.

 

And I think in that moment, he understood why I broke the way I did.

 

I told him the truth.

 

I told him I didn’t want another label.

I didn’t want to be “the cancer patient” in mental health service

I was already Fucked up 

I didn’t want him worrying more, tiptoeing around me, or treating me like I was fragile.

 

I didn’t want to be a burden with another problem.

 

And I definitely didn’t want the pity that sometimes comes with the word “cancer.”

 

So I shut down.

I hid it.

I tried to handle two battles as if they were one — and it nearly destroyed me.

 

But Gavin didn’t judge me.

 

He just said, gently:

 

“You’ve been going through all of this alone. No wonder you’re exhausted.”

 

Not dramatic.

Not emotional.

Just truth.

 

He didn’t make me feel stupid for hiding it.

He didn’t shame me.

He didn’t make it about him.

I broke dowm 

 

He just accepted it — and then he stepped up.

 

He talked to Julie, my Macmillan nurse.

He coordinated with my team.

He made sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

He treated my mental health and my cancer as one combined battle — because that’s what it is.

 

A war on both fronts.

 

Telling him ended up being the relief I didn’t know I needed.

 

He didn’t see me as weak.

He didn’t see me as dramatic.

He didn’t see me as “too much.”

 

He saw me as someone who’s been fighting far too many things at once.

Someone who needed support, not judgment.

Someone who deserved compassion, not pity.

 

And for the first time, I felt like someone finally understood the whole picture: the pain, the fear, the trauma, the heartbreak, the cancer, the mental collapse, the survival.

 

All of it.

**Holding everything inside almost broke me.

 

Letting Gavin see the truth helped save me.**

 

He is the calm I didn’t know I needed.

The voice that doesn’t panic.

The support that doesn’t feel like pity.

The person who treats me like I’m more than my diagnosis — all of them.

 

And now that he knows the truth, I don’t feel like I’m hiding anymore.

 

I feel seen.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, I feel a little less alone.