For those of you who are confused by this phenomenon, allow me to outline the different kinds of best friends that exist here in Lady Town (a new city I am building filled with Lisa Frank pencils and spreadable goat cheese).
I’m where I’m meant to be now, but I hate that I believed I had to present myself differently in order for others to believe that I’m queer. I hate that dressing girly now makes me invisible to the lesbian community. What I hate most of all, however, is that even if I make it a known fact that I am into women, I am still doubted and distrusted by everyone.
I’m inclined to think it’s a coincidence that in that year, everything I believed, every relationship I held dear, every truth I thought I could rest on, the very filters through which I viewed the world shifted: painfully, awkwardly, awesomely, and so on. But then I observe every other goddamn 25-year-old ever —and hey, look! It happens to everyone.