Finding a label that really needs to get lost.

I’ve had a lot of stupid things happen to me, but I have to say that where romance is concerned, my cup’s doesn’t even know how to concieve the concept of running over.

Don’t worry, this post isn’t to complain about that. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t even do that to me.

It’s just a fact. One that I’m casual about because, really, what other way is there to be? I could get upset, but I never saw the reason for it. Except for that one time I was hit on after a screening, entirely oblivious until it was too late and I’d already given my e-mail address. That was an awkward time.

Growing up I was always better at running commentary on other people’s romantic troubles than getting involved. And I found that about eight times out of ten I was right about all this advice I was giving, in spite of experiencing next to none of this myself. I maintain it was because most of this was common sense, but anyway.

Around eighth grade or so, some of my friends started coming out. I was always there to support, and held back any remarks about the ones I’d kind of suspected all along.

… Mostly.

Then I started to wonder about me. Some of my closest friends were admitting to being bisexual or gay, I was thirteen, how could I not?

It was an odd thing to consider when you’re lacking on experience. Though I have to say back then, about ninety five percent of us were, so I never felt particularly bad about that.

It took a while for me to realize that I could look at some girls I knew, and get that little fluttery feeling we all know so very well.

Shortly after that, I realized that that same feeling would hit around certain guys.

And it never went away.

Still hasn’t. And ladies and gentlemen, that’s why if you pop over to the info section on my Facebook page, you’ll see I’ve labeled myself as bisexual.

I’ve never seen any reason to change my mind about this. But there’s just this little problem. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel like a fraud.

There’s no shame here. Ever since I did my own bit of coming out, which happened at various times with various people, I’ve gotten nothing but acceptance. Even when I kind of casually threw this bomb at my poor unsuspecting mother in the middle of a Home Depot.

But I’m not sure I know myself well enough to wear the mantle. And I’ve noticed, whether it’s because of the way I dress or my mannerisms (or whatever), a number of people try to nudge me over to the ‘lesbian’ column.

I think my deep love for Michael Fassbender would beg to differ, damn it.

All kidding aside though, it’s never felt right. But neither does the Hetero Hat. And maybe neither one ever will. I’ve always said that the one real quality that has to be met by someone looking to saddle themselves with me is ‘tolerant’. And that’s not gender specific. Women can be just as incapable of it as men.

I don’t have any real tales like the ones that I see others talking about, whether they be friends of mine, friends of friends, or halfway across the world on the internet. It feels like I’m letting something or someone down, not living my bisexual life to the fullest.

Maybe my time will come. Right now, I’ve got a bit more on my plate to worry about. There’re other facets of my identity that’re coming along slowly, it may well just suss itself out along with the rest.

Or it won’t. For some people, it never really does. Or I got it right the first time. Or this label thing really is the waste of time that some people consider it to be. Who’s to say?

Until then, I’ll sit here with my label, along with the numerous others you could apply to me, plastered across my forehead.

Christ, it’s getting crowded up there.

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~ by Sara on November 20, 2011.

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