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I've wondered — for far too long, I think — what it might be like to be able to 'take it all off;' to remove completely the mask of me, to reveal to another what's really inside. Since I was quite young, it's seemed clear that this is one of 'the rules' we cannot violate. We're almost required to erect walls around ourselves and, in turn, around our psyches.
I cannot, after all this time, understand why this is, just that it is. Coming out, for me, has been a long, difficult, and seemingly unending process. It's been at once shrouded in mystery, enveloped in a sort of mystique, and very painful. For me, the real mechanics of coming out didn't even start until long after I had the faintest inkling of my feelings of bisexuality, long after I even had a word for what it was I felt. I knew that there was a part of me I could not reveal to anyone.
I had no one at all to talk to about it — no male friend or acquaintance, no female friend, no parent or relative. But in spite of things being so well bottled up, it didn't really seem to hurt — that is, until much later in life.
After all the girlfriends, the social acquaintances, the marriage, the kids, I began to realize that these feelings never went away. It started to sink in that all the years of hiding the outward (but very private) manifestations of those feelings were taking a serious toll. I began to understand that the 'odd' part of me — the strongly sexual, demanding, often wild and adventurous part; the part that at one point had burned strongly enough that I tried to act on it in silly, awkward, totally unsuccessful ways; the part that, day in and day out, had brought up crazy urges that drew no boundaries along lines of gender but instead propelled me toward feelings of sexuality centered along completely different lines — had been grinding me down. These same feelings that, as a very young person, I had very nearly reveled in had begun, after so long being held in check and hidden away through a mix of shame, giddy delight, and fear, to take a serious toll on my mental persona.
I also began to recognize that I was making a big effort to try and force these feelings out of me, to quench them, to kill them completely. As one of those whose early social life was frequently marked by painful encounters, I remembered that in an awful lot of those cases, much of the hurt seemed to stem from being on the outside, of feeling different and never letting anyone know about it.
As I struggled with issues of coming out, I realized that I had to come out to myself first, that without coming clean inside, there was no way I was going to be able to come clean with others. While I can say I've been a lot better about this recently, I'm still not entirely there. I still hide myself away.
I don't suppose it's easy for anyone. I'd guess that those who struggle with this process go through their own individual pain. I'm reluctant to share a lot of this simply because of that — my issues and problems are so terribly insignificant. The problem is that this whole thing drives me further and further into a black hole. The depression doesn't really stop — it just gets displaced. The number of times I have thought that I am making progress is small in comparison with the number of times I felt a cold steel barrel was a better answer. But that's so messy, really. I keep plugging away, hoping to find some resolution, some relief. I haven't gotten much closer to resolution, but I seem to have moved away from the cold steel barrel theme.
Odd, but so many venues seem to be carefully maintained cliques. Even those spaces where I would have expected something, where I had, on one or two occasions, even dared to hope for more than just simple conversation have left me empty. I'm surely not that unattractive, am I? Yes, this is about physical feeling: it has taken a very long time to recognize that this drive is not immured solely within the boundaries of a loving relationship. It's there, period, and it's manifest as a physical interest. Should I be so strong as to deny it, or is that a fool's religion? I like how I can feel there. Can it really be true that no one else feels the same?
Oh yes, the self-pity. I nearly forgot. The many who have struggled, who have persevered, who are ensconced within 'their' community like a caterpillar in a cocoon, have little use for — much less interest in — an interloper, especially an AC/DC like me. To be bi is not even to be marginalized — it is simply to not be.
Are there answers? I no longer know. I no longer hope for much. It doesn't seem so much a matter of resignation, but that I can feel okay about having this inside of me, and having only me know about 'that' side of me. It's likely, I'm sure, that the depression will ebb and flow. It's not inconceivable that somehow, somewhere, I'll consummate this urge. With good fortune, it might be a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Most likely, along the way, I'll get the same stones thrown from all sides when those pitchers realize that I'm not their image of what they believe I should be. I can — I must — accept all of this.
I suppose, though, that if it all becomes too much, that I can always go sky-diving. And with no parachute, well then, what a clean, thrilling finish. And no one the wiser.
