There is a deep erosive pain that sits at the bottom of my soul. That no one will detect in me at a first glance. I keep it secret, covered in shame. It’s a powerful tool. Shame. It helps me in never being seen. I am ashamed of being bisexual.
So many times I have wished it would go away, like a disease, like I was told.. “it will pass when you grow up”. But I grew up, and I am still bisexual. I am fully a man, as I am fully a woman. I have the desire to take a woman like a man does and a man like a woman does. I fall in love with both, equally, entirely, deeply. I care for both, I devote myself to both, I am equally open to both. It’s like having two hearts in one body.But on the outside I appear as one, and that one happens to be a woman.
The man in me sits quiet, in a corner. Unloved and unseen. Unheard. He is not convenient, he is not conventional. People don’t wanna know about him, because it’s gross, it’s improper. He sits there, glancing at the ceiling, asking God why he’s here. With his palm around his neck, crying. This man, this man is me. I’ve kept him silent and held him captive for all these years, just terrified of what would happen if I just told people the truth “I feel like a man and a woman at the same time”. Some days I would love to just wake up as this handsome powerful man I feel in me and go love on a woman, hard. And then I look at myself, and I hate what I see. I hate the woman I see in the mirror, I hate the curves the long hair, the rounded hips, the softness on my body. I hate it and I need to look away. I feel inadequate and ridiculous, I feel pathetic. The world outside simply sees the woman and tells her she is beautiful. And I wish I was loved, too. I wish I was cared for, I wish I was invited and welcomed into life and not rejected and pushed away.
When I tell people I am bisexual, they think it’s sexy. They don’t guess the deep scars in my soul. They don’t know of all the pain and the internal conflicts, they don’t know of the sleepless nights. Restless, trying to figure out how to live. Because how do you love with two at the same time? How do you fit a relationship with another being that only requires a half of you? This is me, and I am two. I was born ambidextrous, and as hyper-creative as hyper-rational, very physical and very spiritual, with two eyes and two legs and two hands and two sexual identities. Who the fuck knows why, but that’s what God have given me. I think probably we don’t know half of what being humans means. We are so complex that we are a mystery to ourselves and we are terrified to discover the full extension of our soul. At least I was. I still am. But I am writing this piece to simply say, I am here. The man and the woman I am, I am here.