Coming Out Is Always A Work In Progress
Bloody brilliant – you’re right it’s the one question – among a myriad of curious questions, that no one asks. You write beautifully
They ask, “what was it like to come out?”
I ask, “which time?”
The first time, I was twelve. I tried to tell my mother I was bisexual and she sat me down and told me I was “too young.” She said that I could be gay or straight, but that I could not be bisexual because it was “slutty.” To this day she denies ever saying it, but I remember my heart in my throat and the way that fear sunk its claws into my stomach. She must be right, I had thought, she’s my mom. So I corrected myself.
The next time I came out was to myself. This was not a discussion with myself or a day’s length dilemma. It was years worth of internal reconstruction, of learning about parents sometimes being wrong, of confronting my own doubts.
I have come out to others…
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