Personal

“boxed in and labeled”

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

New Introduction

I made a conscious decision scheduling this post for the tail-end of Pride Month. For starters, today is Pride Day. It just seemed appropriate for the post. I chose today because it feels that everyone makes the bigger deal at the beginning of June. That’s when we see the most corporate marketing for Pride. That’s when we see influencers beating their chests about how much an ally they are. As the month winds down, people who aren’t a part of the community just stop caring. There’s no financial gain to it.

With that said, this is not the original intro to this post. The original intro consisted of a story of a friend coming out to me. While I kept that friend’s name secret, I nonetheless began to have second thoughts. I only have so many friends and it wouldn’t take too much a detective to figure out who I was talking about. While I know this friend’s family is fully aware, I don’t know where our mutual friends stand.

In short, while this story does contain me as a character, it is not my story to tell. Most of the post remains the same. The ending has been altered to because it tied back to the introduction.

Continue reading ““boxed in and labeled””
Doldrums

Open to Suggestion

It feels dishonest writing a pride-themed post, because the facade I choose to wear has been “straight” for some time now. It makes answering questions easier. Especially when it comes to the question of why all of my relationships have been with women.

I don’t struggle with my sexuality. I know who I like. And what I like. And how I like it.

For all intents and purpose, I called myself bisexual in my youth. Except that’s a sweater that never quite fit. Not to mention the unfavorable itch that came along with it. The idea that at some point I would have to make decision. The idea that my “bisexuality” was a gateway drug to full-blown gay was tossed around by one girlfriend.

In college, the idea of pansexuality became popular vernacular so I tried it on. The idea of loving someone despite – perhaps in spite – of what lay between their legs seemed to make sense. In the end, however, the label left as sour taste in my mouth. Not to mention the mockery that came with the term pan.

Post college, the term pomosexual – pomo meaning postmodern – became part of my vocabulary. The idea that sexuality didn’t need labels seemed favorable. In the end, though, it was just another category.

In a meeting with an old counselor, I brought up the topic of my sexuality. I started rambling by that point. I scratched the armrest of the sofa chair she had in her office.

“I have a girlfriend,” I said. “But I wouldn’t call myself straight. I feel sexuality – my sexuality – is a little more complicated than that. Or less complicated.”

“How would you describe yourself then?” Veronica once asked me during a session. “If not straight, then what?”

I took a deep breath and searched my brain, “Open to suggestion.”

This post became something else entirely. The essay I wanted to share went off the rails and I’ll post it much later. Bear with me. There’s been stress at work, personal life, and with all the shit going on in the world, my mind has been elsewhere.