A body can be deeply filled with rivets and cracks, with ridges and slopes. All kinds of places for things to hide, even from yourself.
And then, one day, you find something sitting just underneath a bit of yourself, almost as if it was swallowed long ago, never to be seen. But you saw it, and you grasped this thing between your fingers. You examined it carefully, bit by bit. Truthfully, you had caught glances of it in the years before. Like little shards of glass swept away into a corner, you dismissed it. It wasn’t big enough or strong enough for you to even acknowledge it was there. But suddenly, the shards have formed into something much larger than before, and all you can do is stare at your reflection in the mirror, inches away from your beating heart. And you have to face it. You can’t turn away, you can’t avert your eyes.
This is a part of you. A part of who you are. A part that, at times, you didn’t really know existed.
Things are not black and white. They aren’t grey, either. They are so many colors, colors that you can’t even see. They are shades and pigments and hues of life that the world holds onto. So many things. People are not defined by one role they play in their lives. Music is not made in only one key. It is not THIS or THAT. Life is not a yes or no question. People are not switches that you can simply flick on and off. There is always and beautiful in-between. This needs to be understood, in order for anyone to understand.
It is not always one or the other.
Life is not that simple. People are not that simple. I am not that simple.
Love isn’t that simple.
This thing that I’ve found, it’s much different than anything I’ve ever had to deal with. It’s not something anyone in my family seems to carry with them. And it has become very heavy, very fast. This is mostly because my family is very open. We show love easily, we hug and kiss and forgive easily. But this thing, this thing is not easy. It is not just a cake you can slice into fourths and pass around the dinner table.
It’s been so incredibly hard these past few months. The shards of glass seemed to be scratching at my skin, wanting to be seen or heard. Wanting to be felt. But I forced it down. I forced it down inside myself, pushing my palms into the weight of it. But I have cuts on my hands. The farther I pushed it, the more I bled. The heavier my heart.
I’ve started to tell my friends about it, my closest friends. Each time, my heart would drop to my stomach, my hands would shake uncontrollably, teeth biting into my lip so hard I can still taste the blood. Whether it be by phone or text, the anticipation of their reaction would remain the same. So far, everyone I have told has taken it very well. Most were surprised, others did nit seem to even skip a beat before responding. But all were accepting. All were supportive. And each time, it felt like jumping into the ocean. Only the calm, steady beat of the saltwater surrounds you. You are free.
But not completely.
And so, in the middle of all of the chaos that is my life, I realize that I am bisexual.