I was one of those kids who said, “that’s so gay,” and freaked out when one of the girls in the locker room started identifying as bisexual. It’s embarrassing to look back on, and not something I’m particularly proud of. It upsets me to admit I was a 12-year-old homophobe, partly because of misunderstanding, but mostly because at the beginning of seventh grade I thought I might be gay.
Nobody talked about sexuality six years ago like they do now. There weren’t Facebook pages dedicated to it (at least not that I knew of). My parents didn’t have sit-down talks with me about being gay like they did with sex and drugs. Kids at my school were insensitive to the idea of a girl liking girls, and I was, too.
It wasn’t until I was sitting in my friend’s living room, celebrating her birthday with several other girls, one of whom made me feel like no one else had before, that something like a massive confetti cannon went off in my head. Leaned against the couch, our hips and knees and ankles touching, we laughed and joked with everyone, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at gifts. She paid special attention to me, and when we all settled down hours later, crawling into sleeping bags and under fuzzy blankets, I realized just how good it felt to be near her. As she lay snoring next to me, I drifted off, thinking about what it meant to feel with a girl what I’d been told I was only supposed to feel with boys.
Later on, I admitted to a friend I might be gay, and she took it in stride, but when she brought it up a week later, I denied it, asking her, “how could [she] say such a thing? I’m not gay.”
Fast forward six or so years, and you have me, the 18-year-old pansexual poet from Pflugerville, Texas. Getting to the point where I accepted myself for being something others didn’t even know about left me with countless challenges, from dropping snippets of my revelation to my family in casual conversation, to full-blown coming out to friends. Both could have been met with better words: “Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?” “That’s fine, as long as you don’t try to kiss me.” *Rolls eyes aggressively* Though biting my tongue wasn’t always easy, and often times I drew blood, I managed to convince a great deal of the people in my life that my sexuality isn’t a phase. More importantly, it doesn’t change who I am. I’m an aries, my favorite place is the library, and I like people regardless of what’s between their legs.
There are days- and weeks, and months- when I wish I hadn’t told anyone I might be gay, or that I’m pansexual, or that now I’m questioning my sexuality (again), but I wouldn’t be the same if I hadn’t faced the harsh rhetoric and ridicule of those close to me at such a vulnerable age. I don’t blame anyone for anything, because I suppose humor is a coping mechanism many cling to in times of crisis, and I’m sure they were just as confused as I was. After all, I’ve been boy crazy since I was a kid.
I didn’t come out of the closet. I came out of the kitchen with the rest of the pots and pans, and if granted a do-over, I wouldn’t change a thing.
