(Aside: This is a piece I wrote for the Matrix magazine that I am the junior editor of.)
When the cheating starts, the fighting, the lying, the crushing anxiety. When the fear sets in, and the threats start coming in waves and you want to crawl inside yourself and never leave. When you hide yourself, not your face or your body but you, the colorful, nurtured, lively you. The one who dances in fields in their dreams and has flowers in their hair.
No that person is hidden underneath the shame. Underneath the lies.
The biggest lie is that there is only one way to love.
I was told that loving was limited. The prince and princess and their one love.
Heterosexuality. Monogamy. A singular unity between two people.
This is a lie.
I was scared to question my feelings. I was scared to share with my friends my doubts. They’d say: “No, there is no way you could be a lesbian.”
And I say lesbian because, yet again I thought, it can’t be possible for me to like more than one. I must be greedy. Lustful. Out of control. I must be ravenous for some kind of contact.
But I’m not. I just have a capacity to love more than one gender and more than one person. And that was a well too deep for me to look down into, and when I did look I thought it was just an illusion and it was actually shallow. Shallow as if being more capable to love more than one gender and more than one person was crippling to my heart.
Then, knowing that monogamy and heterosexuality was an incapability of mine, I was unable to love at all.
It’s an easy class, but I am realizing more and more journalism, in its triumph in being timely, informative, constant, and to the point, loses the word crafting and beautiful syntax that other writing has.
Lately, I’ve been staying out late with friends, going to a lot of movies, events, and concerts. I went to Rocky Horror PIcture Show Friday.
WEIRDEST MUSICAL EVER (not weirdest movie ever that would be Rubber, which everyone should go see).
Staying out late is one of my favorite things, but not for what you might think. It’s not all about the parental defiance, peer shock, funny stories, or weird experiences, its simply because I like to be free, and getting out late and staying out is extremely freeing. I don’t worry much, so I find consequences only scare me when they are extreme, but contrary to popular belief, and maybe how I make it sound, I am rather tame.
Drugs are horrid, Alcohol isn’t fun for me, and smoking just smells. But give me a pound of chocolate and liquid “happiness” I will be just fine. (liquid happiness, is a McCafe frappe, but its both the mocha frappe and carmel frappe with extra whipped cream.)
So this is a thing my friends say:
(Skins, UK )