It took me some time to accept the truth about what I really am. By “some time” I mean 17 and a half years.
The truth is, I am a unicorn, dressed as a human, who travelled from another galaxy to (supposedly) Mars because my best friend lives there. However, my spaceship flew past Mars and towards Earth because I got lost in the moment listening to Panic! At The Disco.
Obviously, that was a lie.
The (real) truth is that I am bisexual, which essentially means guys and girls make me horny. But to give you a more dispassionate and bland description, bisexuality is romantic or sexual attraction towards both males and females.
Although I accepted this truth when I was 17, I have known this my whole life and just decided to push it to the back of my mind. I wasn’t straight and then decided I was bisexual when I got older. I have always been bisexual. I remember back in Kindergarten, I had a lot (two) of girl crushes and one guy crush. I have been bisexual for as long as I can remember, and I can honestly say that it is not a phase. (I will smack anyone who tells me that in the face. That actually rhymed.)
However, even though I have always known it in my heart, I forced myself to hide my real fabulous self.
Because my male classmates back in Kindergarten called me a “tomboy” with disdain dripping in their voices like poison I could almost taste it and die.
Because my mom kind of figured out that I might be into girls and talked to me with so much disappointment and anger in her eyes.
Because I was scared.
I grew up as a sheltered girl. I lived in a province and studied in a Catholic school since birth until I went to college. My university is a public university, and I am so grateful for that. It opened my eyes to a lot of truths: about my country, about the society, and most importantly, about myself.
I was in the closet for too long I was almost sure I was in Narnia already (and the closet is suffocating).
So I told two of my closest friends (one of which is my best friend) over the phone that I was bisexual, and I honestly expected them to be shocked or disappointed, but they were like “Oh okay. It doesn’t matter. We still love you.” It might never occur to them how they made me happy that night.
Now that my two closest friends know who I truly am, I can now live in peace, is what I thought.
I ended up coming out to thirty more people for a speech in one of my classes. It was scary, but for the most part, I didn’t really care. I, again, came out in one of my classes because of a question about attraction (and I just couldn’t shut up) to about twenty more people. Again, it didn’t feel like a big deal to me.
And I wondered why, until now, I still haven’t come out to my family. I thought about how they’d feel if I told them about my sexuality, and it scared me out of my wits.
It’s so easy to come out to a bunch of strangers. It’s so easy to give them something that they could use against me. And although it might hurt to hear strangers saying nasty things about me, I know they could never really hurt me. They’re a bunch of strangers. Who cares about what they’re going to say?
But my friends and most especially my family are the most important people in my life, and it would kill me if they hated me for something that I don’t have a choice over, for something I can never change.
These people could make me think less of myself. These people could break my heart. These people could destroy me. And when it happens, they’re the only ones who could repair me.