Coming Out of Orlando

I will say up front this is an opinion post and a post that may be triggering for some people.  Please stop reading now if you are concerned.

I have been working on processing what happened in Orlando last weekend since I first heard about it, and I have sat down several times to write this, but it is such a difficult topic for me to unpack.  I sit down and start writing and end up down some rabbit hole, knowing it will take at least a couple of pages to dig myself back out, just to I can fall down the next one.  It's been exhausting.  So.  I'm trying something new, and if you're reading this, I guess that means it worked for me.
 
I am bisexual.  Some of you know this.  I'm not in the closet, but I've never shouted it from the rooftops either.  So, for those of you for whom this is news - hi.  I'm bi.  Or something.  The Kinsey Scale puts me between a 3 and a 4, where 3 is "equally homosexual and heterosexual" and 4 is "predominantly homosexual, but more than incidentally heterosexual."

"But you married a man.  Why do you need to label yourself if you're not dating or starting new relationships?"
Let me ask you this.  Think back, for some of you way back, back before you had your first sexual partner, before you even had a platonic relationship.  Before you had your first "boyfriend" or "girlfriend."  How did you know who you liked?  Did you just roll the dice and decide to go with whatever? I don't think so.  I know what I am the same as you know what you are, and I have every right to identify with that.
And yeah, I married a man, because I met someone who was a perfect match for me, who has grown alongside me and encouraged me in all things, and I was lucky enough to meet that person when I was very young.  And you can bet we had some very long, confusing, enriching conversations as I came to terms with my identity.  I married a man because I fell in love with a man.  Because when you are lucky enough to meet your soulmate for the first time at 17, you don't fuck around.     

I have been so lucky in life and marriage.  We are building a good life together.  We rent a nice house and own two cars and have a savings account and our fridge is never empty.  We overcame the terrors of cancer and weathered the storms of mental illness.  We have a cat that I love like she's my child, and a dog that I love like a less favorite child (kidding!).  In almost every way we are a pretty average, white, middle-class couple.  But me being bisexual has a huge impact on how I see the world, interpret the words and actions of others, form my political decisions, decide how to use my own words and with whom to share them...the list goes on.  Additionally, all of this is happening within the privilege I have of appearing to those who do not know me as a "normal" straight person.  I don't want to gloss over that.
 
When I was at college at WSU I went to the Tabby Kat drag shows every month with my friends who were gay, bisexual, questioning, trans, and our wonderful ally friends.  I learned so much from that family of weirdos and I will never forget them.  When in Seattle I have visited Neighbors on more than one occasion and felt like I was walking into a familiar place each time.  A place where I felt safe.  It's not like I walk in to a gay bar and scream, "MY PEOPLE!!!!" Not at all.  But when you are in one of those safe spaces, a weight is lifted off of your shoulders.  The presumptions are gone and you feel like you are surrounded by people who might not know you, but they understand.

Which brings me back around to Orlando.  One thing I have heard a lot of my friends say is, "that could have been me." And yeah, sure, it could have been.  It could have been a lot of us.  For me, it's the feeling that I can't comprehend our safe spaces of expression being violated in the way that Pulse was.  That we live in a world where we have one place, ONE PLACE, where we are sure to feel that weight lifted so we can just be humans together, and that was ripped away from us.  In the LGBTQ community, we all have one thing in common, no matter how we pass in the outside world, and that is that there are people who would look into our hearts and see us dead over something we cannot control.  There are the violent people who would shoot us, and there are the "peaceful" people would would pray for our salvation and ask us to lead unsatisfying lives of silent shame because they have made an interpretation of an ancient text and used it to place judgement upon us.

A couple of months back, a friend of a friend on Facebook reminded us that the Bible calls for us to stone to death anyone who commits the sin of homosexuality, so we should stop complaining and be grateful.
So I guess I'm supposed to be grateful for the fact that 49 souls were murdered by bullets on Sunday morning.  At least it wasn't stones.

.....I should be grateful that 49 sets of parents and siblings and countless other family members are having to come to terms with the most unimaginably horrific of losses.

.....I'm supposed to be grateful that when I go to a vigil to honor those 49 lives and lament their loss, that I have an escape plan for every room I walk in to, and a corner of my brain will always be occupied by my need to remain vigilant because anything could happen and that awareness could be key to my survival.

.....I guess I should be grateful that high percentages of our LGBTQ youth will be threatened with violence at school this year.  That as many as 30% will report being raped at some point in their lives.  I guess it's better to be threatened or raped instead of stoned, right? So we should just shut up and be grateful.

Our country might not be throwing stones, but we are still doing damage. LQBTQ people are still being forced into shame and silence and death through action and inaction.  They are still being invalidated and ostracized.  We might not be getting hit by rocks, but we are still being hurt.

So why come out and talk explicitly about my own sexuality now? Because it feels like it's time.  Because I owe it to all the people in my life - the non-conforming and conforming, the questioning, the allies, and those who still have some work to do.  How can I support and educate if I'm not even willing to be strong and honest about myself?

So there it is.  I don't know if this will be thought-provoking for anyone or if it's just some good old self-indulgence, but I feel pretty good about it.
Love each other.