I need a space to write, and as of now this is the only one I have. I guess I should try my real journal, though. Well, this is quicker, so let's go...
I don't know who the fuck I am. It's been this way since high school started, and it's going to stay this way until I change some things around here. If someone were to ask me why I think I'm queer, I don't know if I'd be able to tell them. I'd probably mumble something unintelligible. No, no, most likely I'd say something that would be easily counteracted with some reason why I'm in actuality straight, and then I would be dumbfounded. I'd be left to feel this deep sense of failure, left to feel like someone just stabbed me in the gut or punched me in the head. And this is what always happens. I have nothing to say to anyone when the time comes to prove myself, and I'm left feeling like a fucking asshole.
I just read the Celestine Prophecy this week, and it made me realize something. I already knew that within these past four years my self-esteem has plummetted severely, but I didn't know how to do anything about it, aside from continuing to give myself a hard time for not being stronger. There's always something to feel guilty about, right? Anyway, I realized just how low my own thoughts bring me, and how all I have to do is grab these motherfucking insecurities in a tight fist and throw them all out the goddamn window. All I have to do is just cut myself off from that nagging monster in my brain that tells me that I don't know anything about myself or my sexuality or my destiny or my feelings... and then allow myself to believe what I know in my gut to be true. My mind won't let me forget about this issue - even if it goes away for awhile, it always comes back just as strong as it was before. And you know what? I'm not too fucking young to know. So what if I don't have experience? Do the straight people need experience to know? How does it work that my mom will talk to me about hot celebrity men and who, on a purely hypothetical level, it would be nice to sleep with, despite the fact that I've never come even close to sleeping with a guy... but because I've never had a girlfriend, I obviously don't know what I'm talking about when it comes to homosexuality. And it's not this dramatic, but this is the message she sends. And quite frankly, I'm fucking tired of listening to it. I'm tired of listening to her and I'm tired of listening to myself.
And, well, when it comes down to it, I've never wanted to be that different. Shouting out left-winged, hippy rants in the quad was one thing - actually living a lifestyle that so many people find inherently wrong is another. On some level, I think I do project my own insecurities onto my mom. But I know, too, that on some level... she doesn't want me to be queer. She doesn't want her daughter to be a fag.
I've been aware of this since 8th grade, although I wouldn't say that I knew. I wanted to be physically close to my friends, and I wanted to kiss... well... this girl. I did. I was so excited when I got to kiss her on the forehead. I've been making up excuses since I first put the label to myself, but something tells me that there's more to this than some confused experimentation or some psychofuck trendy shit. Something vague but persistent is telling me that there is mmoorree. More, goddamnit. Even after going on dates and totally freezing up, I'm still coming back. Even after that flimsy first kiss on an afternoon rendezvous, I just fucking know. It's there. And it remains.
It's funny... how my feelings for guys have evolved so differently. I guess it just goes that way when you live a heterosexual society.
And to any biphobes that just may be tempted to respond to this: Fuck You.