or, FOMO for the Holidays
Content warning for suicide ideation, abusive relationships, and internalized biphobia
I met up with some friends from high school this afternoon, and I spent around twenty minutes in the bathroom standing on the sink having a panic attack. I honestly considered hanging myself from a length of chain that extended from a wheel in the ceiling (it was a nice bathroom. Spacious with some natural light coming in from the top).
It’s hard when you’re the saddest person at the table. I was shaking when I arrived at the cafe and it only got a bit better when I chatted with one friend about Overwatch instead of a) the future or b) relationships.
Which brings me to my main point. I am currently dating a cis man as an AFAB non-binary person, which translates to us passing as a heterosexual couple in most people’s eyes. And I’m immensely happy in my relationship because he’s respectful of my boundaries (my sex aversion) and supportive of me, but there’s a part of me that’s angry/wistful/maddened at the fact that two of my friends are in sapphic relationships and I am not.
Because fuck, I suffered for my sexuality. I came out to my mother as bisexual a total of five times before it finally stuck, and a few days ago we had our first honest conversation about my being bi and the possibility of me being with a woman in the future, but I think a part of that was mitigated by the fact that I am currently in a relationship she can swallow.
So I fell for the first manic-pixie dream girl I met in college. So I wasted six years of my life on-again off-again pining for someone who I eventually cut off contact with because I finally realized that we’d both keep hurting each other. So the person that they liked in high school was at the cafe today. So I’m still not over how a friend was emotionally abusive towards me and another friend for 2 years.
My mom told me that the reason why she doesn’t want me to be queer is because she doesn’t want me to have to fight so hard. And I said, if everyone lived by that logic, there would be no social change because nobody would be brave enough to live as their authentic selves.
And to an extent, I feel like I don’t deserve to be happy. I got too caught up in the struggle for authenticity that I’ve only just recently realized that having a community and having friends are two different things. And I should be happy, I really should. But sometimes it’s hard to separate life from activism, and to know that what I got out of all those years of fighting for who I am lead all the way back around to safe shores.