Boosting My SJW Cred: An Open Bisexual Love Letter

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Photo by Wellington Cunha from Pexels

For almost a decade of crushing on girls, I didn't even know that homosexuality was a thing - let alone bisexuality. Even when I found out about homosexuality, of one thing I was sure - that wasn't me. I wondered though - I wondered who I might know that might be.

And I thought about the older, attractive girls I admired. The ones who had a reputation for disregarding social norms and conservative school rules about segregating boys and girls. The ones I so desperately wanted to be... but never to be with.

 Right?

 I thought about them and concluded that perhaps they might do these strange things with each other - make out with each other the way guys and girls were supposed to do. I tried to imagine it, and experienced a thrill, and came away even surer than before:

That that's not me. That's just not me.

It was only when I found myself hanging around a schoolmate's classroom, hoping to catch even the slightest glimpse of her, that I began to suspect that all was not as I thought it was. By then I no longer felt any compunctions about homosexuality - it was all fine and good for those that it applied to.

But surely, it couldn't apply to me.

But then again, I'd do anything to see this girl today. And tomorrow. And the day after that.

I didn't need to speak to her. I didn't even need to exchange a smile. Sometimes just hearing somebody else talk about her was enough - enough to remind me that she existed. Enough to feed my wonder at her existence.

I was enthralled. I was enthralled by her more than I had ever been by a guy. I refrained from talking about her openly. Refrained from showing too much interest if she was ever mentioned in conversation, because I feared my secret would be out.

Wouldn't want that. Wouldn't want her to know - it wasn't like she was into girls anyway. Wouldn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

She's in the past now, I imagine. But I am not, and my attraction to women has only ever expanded. I was obsessed with Emma Watson - and so were a lot of other little girls I knew. I imagine that we were the ones that grew up to have a pronounced Kristen Stewart complex. (God, how are there so many of us? Does Ms. Stewart know how powerful her queer aura is?)

In fact, I am peak Twitter bisexual energy, embodying every cliche, stereotype and meme, so it's laughable that anyone should make me feel insecure about my sexuality. And yet it happens.

And when it does - when I feel the violence of queerphobia and erasure descend on me like glowing embers from hell - I revert back to my teenage years on a skating rink, watching from the sidelines as the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen glided by like something out of a fairy tale. I embrace the comfort and safety of that memory, and remind myself that no one who's ever felt that way could possibly be straight. 

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