Some thoughts on Bisexual Visibility Day

I talk about sex, consensual and not. it’s not graphic, and it’s not the point of the post, but it’s referenced. 

Bi-erasure is a thing. Don’t even pretend it’s not. Which is why I’m coming out as one of those confused cheating, polyamorous, greedy bitches who can’t pick a side, who is waiting for someone to turn them, who doesn’t exist…. Not really coming out, just popping in to raise my eyebrow and say “What… You didn’t know? Oh honey, bless.” But don’t worry too much about me, I hear it’s just a phase.

Although a label that I could wear, I choose not to. “bisexual” to me signifies the belief of only two sexes or genders. I do not believe this to be true. Or the idea that a bisexual identifying person is only down with two of the many flavors of sex and gender out there. It’s the root of the prefix that irks me. I don’t believe all bisexual identifying people to think there are only two genders. Just personally, I prefer the term ‘Pansexual’. Plus, it lets others make jokes about me “being attracted to pans”. Though it doesn’t get funnier the more I hear it, it makes my friends smile to themselves, and who am I to stop that. I like men, women, that beautiful space in between, masculine, feminine, androgyny, and many other things. I’m attracted to people; everything else is just details.

Looking back on my history, it seems I verymuch favor male/masculine. In sexual partners, emotional partners, romantic partners etc. I have a lot of self doubts because of this. That because I’m historically mostly on one side of the spectrum, because I present so cisgender & heterosexual, that I’m “not bi enough” or “not queer enough” to identify as someone living under the LGBTQIA rainbow umbrella. I’ve heard snickers from people in my queer-family spaces about people like me. Sometimes from the lips of people I love.

Because of this self doubt, I hyper-analyze myself. There are a few factors in my life that I feel have shaped me into leaning more ‘straight’ in my actions. I was raised in a time and culture where all I saw was straight representation; My environment raised me to be “straight”. I was conditioned by what I saw around me how to interact with male types. There was no guideline for how girls can flirt with girls. Just lots of examples of how boys and girls flirt, and how they are supposed to react. I remember as a child feeling the same way towards boys as I did girls. I never thought it was wrong. I always assumed everyone did, but just didn’t talk about it. I was 10 the first time I was called a lesbian. I had no clue what it meant but by the tone the kids used I knew it wasn’t good. When I came home and asked my mom what it meant, she was surprised I had heard that word, and explained it so simply and without judgement that I didn’t understand why the kids used it as a slur. This was the moment I learned that there was “gay” and “straight”. Although neither simplified definition fit me, I assumed I was straight because I liked boys, and gay girls don’t like boys. I didn’t hear the term “bisexual” until well after I had been intimate with a woman. When I heard it, it knocked the wind out of me. It felt so right; a term means that there are others like me and enough that they have a name.

I didn’t have a healthy relationship with the idea of being a women, of having women around me. I felt more comfortable with the boys in my classes than I did the girls. The words the girls had were far meaner than the things the boys ever did or said. But there was one moment that I will never forget. I’ve healed, as much as I can, but I will never forget how I felt. I was at a friends house, playing video games with my boyfriend, when he started to initiate sexytimes and I wanted nothing to do with it. He had other ideas. He raped me on the couch. My ladyfriend, whom I had been romantically involved with, was upstairs. I know she heard me scream. I know she knows what happened. And she never did or said a damn fucking thing. It took me years to forgive myself for not ‘fighting back hard enough” or whatever the fuck illogical brain tries to tell me. And it took me just as long to forgive her. We were 14, and that moment shaped my mistrust of women for far too long. How could someone who claimed to love you not do anything, right? I understand why she hid upstairs so much more now that I am an adult looking back at the memory with adult awareness. We.Were.14. How the fuck am I to expect a 14 year old girl to understand the complexities of what was going on and to involve herself in what can be perceived as a potentially lethal situation for her? She used the tools she had to do what she needed to survive that moment. And I did the same. We never spoke again, but I hope if she ever stumbles across this post that she is well and has forgiven herself, just as I have forgiven her. I don’t blame her for my fear of being romantically involved with women anymore. I blame the situation, and I am moving through it as gracefully as I can.
I think the hardest part of this all is that I will never know the answer. I can’t go back in time and change these things. I don’t know if I would want to anyway; they shaped me into who I am and I kinda dig who that is. My “I dig people, but I tend to get involved with the masculine more” tendencies may be nature, or they may be nurture. Who knows. This entire post was intended to be a little facebook status, talking about my experiences as one who is ‘Other than straight & other than gay” and it turned into so much more. Maybe you’ll take something away from this, maybe you won’t. But I know I feel a little lighter for sharing, and that in itself is enough for me.


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