Now, where to begin the sad, sorry story of a girl in love? It’s very hard when you’re on the cusp of liking-the-same-sex-is-wrong and –liking-the-same-sex-is-fine, especially when you’re only 9 years old.
I was extremely lucky in a way. Firstly, I fortunately had the most wonderful of mothers who had worked in the public sector with any sort of teenager, convict and pervert there is to know. Quite frankly, she had a mind as open to shit as any arsehole. But when it comes to your own child it is quite a different thing, I gather. I remember being very young, in Primary School, when I first bombarded her with my befuddled mind full of boobies and soft, porcelain skin. She was perfect, I can recall her very words even now, years on; ‘Darling don’t cry, it doesn’t matter. I will love you whoever you chose to be as long as you’re happy.’ And yes that is SO cliché, but even when you’re 9 it means a lot. Funnily enough she made the grave mistake of saying this again in front of my younger sister. Suddenly a squeaky voice erupted from the back of the car saying “So if I want to be a hooker that’s fine..?” She was 8. Luckily it was followed by “Umm.. Mummy what’s a hooker?”
This carried on for quite a while. Me breaking down in tears fearing for my life because I enjoyed the female physique. Thought’s of madness and fear would flurry about my mind for years, telling me I was in the wrong and feeling this way was ‘not allowed’. I wont lie, I was genuinely freaking the fuck out, if you will. I would be kept awake talking to myself, ‘I don’t want to be gay. I don’t want to like girls. It’s wrong.’ How ludicrous is that?! And that was only, what, 11 years ago. The image of same sex relationships made my skin crawl, both in horror and in absolute delight.
As soon as I hit ‘Proper Boyfriend Age’ in Secondary School I forgot about being different and got on with ‘Trying To Fit In’. There was no room in any part of teenage hood for gays, bisexuals or (heaven forbid) transsexuals. Good Television and it’s friend the Radio, I can hear the laughter now. If anyone had tried to explain a transgender person to a rowdy bunch of 12-16 year olds you’re asking to get ridiculed. As luck would have it, no one tried.
Once I hit about 17 I began to become aware of my bisexual tendencies. Again I became a wobbling jelloid mess of terror and anxiety. Only, by myself this time. I don’t know what it was that made me not talk to my Mum about my feelings this time. Perhaps it was the length of time since the last outburst of Lesbian Love. I’d sit on the sofa at 3 o’clock in the morning when everyone was asleep watching ‘Sugar Rush’, a teenage lesbian/coming out series. (If you haven’t seen it, I’d well recommend it worth a watch.)
I went through heartbreak and crushes without telling a soul. No one, not even my closest friends knew that when I said, “Megan Fox is so HOT” I actually meant it. I went through my upper school years fancying the pants off many a fair maiden (Yes, you. Cheeky) and not quite knowing what to do with those feelings. Yeah, I massively fancied boys as well, and still fall for bearded young men. But that’s easy, that’s acceptable. This wasn’t quite so.
I then went on to have the time of my life in Australia for 8 months. On my own (as you should know!). I met a beautifully broken girl out there, whom I must say, I fell in love with. She was the first ‘lady’ I’d had sex with. I wont lie, it was the most incredible and uplifting experiences of my life. That was the proper turning point for me..
Sexual acts with boys had always been ‘nice’, I guess. But I always felt fumbley and confused when trying to enjoy myself. And even slightly put off and disgusted at times. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure if I really fancied a guy it’d be extremely different, but I’ve never properly’ made love to someone I’ve fallen in love with (male). But when I had this fling with this girl, it all seemed to slot into place. It felt good, I didn’t even have to try. She was happy, I was happy. No worry, no stress, no pain (y’know). Plus it was in a shower the first time, turn on to the max.
So when I returned from the land of Oz I had very short hair, one side shaved, quite comfortable with my sexuality. It’s amazing how you feel when travelling. You don’t care one bit what people perceive you as and yet they take you as you are. It’s wonderful. I didn’t shave for 6 months and people loved me more than most. No joke.
But once I came back I felt the need to ‘assert’ myself in my sexuality but also got deeply embarrassed by the inherent ‘English Way’ I had flourishly forgotten. Although I must say, those closest to me weren’t perturbed whatsoever. I even remember my best friend saying, “Oh yes, I kinda guessed that.” It’s just the ‘Secondary People’ that I seem to fear.
The people, acquaintances and family that don’t know me particularly well are the ones I seem to freeze with. I’m not the sort of person to openly and frankly state that I like women. I don’t see the point, it doesn’t define who I am. It is just the awkward questions like; ‘Have you got a boyfriend yet’. Of course the blatant answer is a simple ‘No’, but I feel as though I need to tell them that I actually much rather snuggle up against a firm breastical than a penis.
Life’s hard. People accept, take time, or don’t. But at the end of the day they are not you. You’re beautiful whoever you are born as.
”It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else’s eyes.” ~Sally Field