Ted shakes his head a little, feeling like she's missing the point. It's not that he's scared they'll tell anyone - well, not just that. It's the long-term result of that fear. Part of him is scared of anyone knowing. Even himself, paradoxically.

He can't just be blithely open about it to the people he trusts, because he doesn't know how to be open about it.

"It hasn't been part of my life for over fifteen years," he tries to explain. "And talking about it... It feels like I'm being threatened."

He's having trouble even saying this much, his eyes shining. He's fighting the impulse to just shut the conversation down.