Monday, September 23, 2013

An Orientation to My Orientation: How I Knew

I've written a few posts specifically devoted to my sexuality already, namely Bisexuality on the Of'fence'iveI Should Know Bi Now, and A Special Day for Christi. A Special Day for Christi covers my coming out story, but I'd never thought to include how I realized I was bi in the first place. To come out as...well, anything, you first have to figure out that's indeed who you are. The process is not always an easy one.

When LGBT people are asked, "how did you know you were LGBT?," a common response is that we just knew from an early age that we were different - we didn't necessarily know HOW we were different, but there were signs. Others say their knowledge of their sexual orientation and/or gender identity didn't hit them until they were in their pre-teens/teens or, in some cases, well into their adult lives. We are all different, and this post is about how *I* knew.

There were signs when I was young that foreshadowed same-sex attraction. In elementary school, I wanted to be assigned to classes with the prettiest female teachers. I was engrossed with their adult figures, beautiful hair, and bodily softness when I hugged them (yeah, I loved hugging teachers as a kid)! I remember paying more attention to these teachers and wanting to participate more in class so they'd like me. Sure, lots of kids want to be just like their role models...but this wasn't about trying to be like was about my mindset that there was nothing better than a beautiful woman's approval. At 8 years old, I had no idea at the time this meant a thing. I was not a sexual being yet. When puberty hit at 13, more pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

I found myself looking at other girls my age with a fascination I couldn't explain. I wanted to stare, but didn't know why. All I knew was that when a girl caught my attention, I blushed and wanted to keep looking at her. I felt the same way with boys and recognized that as sexual attraction, but not with other girls - even though I reacted the same way when I found one cute. I simply thought that I was admiring them in a platonic way, not desiring them sexually. I was also friends primarily with boys growing up and did not have many interactions with girls; thus, I felt that my blushing and awkwardness around them was one way of proving I didn't know how to act around them. The idea of being sexually attracted to women was still not obvious to me.

I remember desperately insisting to my second boyfriend when I was 15 that I wasn't bi, I "just know an attractive girl when I see one." He didn't even think I was bi or try to insinuate I was. All I wanted was for someone to listen to my lies and believe me in the hopes that I'd eventually believe myself. I got sick of fooling myself and looked in the mirror one afternoon and finally admitted the truth out loud: "I like boys and girls."

I was quiet about my orientation for about a year before deciding it was time to come out. I had to make sure I really KNEW. I questioned myself fiercely to delay acceptance of who I was. The fight to destroy every last tidbit of denial did not end quickly. This was the beginning of a dark period in my life, where I resorted to cutting to "punish" myself for something that is neither shameful nor abnormal. The feelings of shame and dislike of my identity continued well after my coming out at the age of 16. I knew who I was and accepted my sexuality, but I didn't feel like I truly appreciated it until I was 20. 

Looking back on the signs I ignored and resisted to accept for so long, I feel fortunate enough to acknowledge and embrace them today as parts of a beautiful, complicated story with a happy ending. Accepting yourself is always the hardest part of the journey. Once you are over that hurdle, you can certainly handle what comes next. You'll know when you're ready.

Monday, July 1, 2013

No Miracles Here

At a church service one Sunday when I was ten years old, the pastor asked congregants who wanted to share stories of their personal experiences with God to gather at the front of the church. This was the very same church I attended that moved to me convert through a fearful sermon less than a year later, but getting back to my point, I decided to share an experience.

My younger brother had recently been born. A high-risk pregnancy, I thought his uncomplicated birth was indisputable evidence of God's work. After all, my mom was a carrier of a virus that, although caused no harm to her, had the possibility of causing developmental damage to my brother. The doctors also paid special attention to her pregnancy because she was nearly 35 when she became pregnant. After sharing my mom's "miraculous" story, a woman approached me after everyone had spoken and told me she enjoyed my testimony. To have another person approve of my story only reaffirmed my belief in miracles...but only ones that happened to me. Everyone else's was subject to criticism.

I was trapped in a hypocritical situation that many religious people find themselves in today. Everyone else's miracles, I told myself, had an explanation. The ones that happened to me, however, were immune to questioning. I  remained completely ignorant to answering the questions surrounding the improbable happenings in my own life until I did away with religion entirely in my early teens. I wanted to believe that my stories were the only unique ones. Surely the survivor of that car accident was just exaggerating about their odds of survival and therefore did not experience a miracle. Certainly that person who was "healed" by prayer was just secretly taking medication, exaggerating about the severity of their ailment, and feigning their "miraculous" recovery.

Everyone's "miracles" have explanations, even if a person may never find out the real cause(s) behind his or her situation. Some people just don't want to hear and believe the truth, even when the explanations for their miracles ARE in plain sight. My older brother was rear-ended by a semi truck two years ago and nearly clipped by another, escaping only with minor injuries. Was he very fortunate? Yes, but it wasn't the work of a guardian angel or God's intervention, as some have suggested to me. Was my younger brother being born without developmental complications unlikely? Again, yes, but I now understand that the situation had  biological, not theological, answers.

There have been happenings in my life that I am unable to explain and will probably encounter more. That does not make them miraculous "works of God" by default. Some of these instances will later be explained through new evidence, and some I'll die without ever figuring out. Attributing seemingly inexplicable events to the miraculous work of a deity is a psychologically satisfying, but intellectually inaccurate way of interpreting something. It requires further investigation and inquiry, not taking the easy way out and giving the credit to some god just because the real answer isn't available right now.

In my case, I wanted to believe everyone's miracles but mine had no divine explanation. Until I learned to see  ALL miracles as potentially solvable mysteries, none of which deserved the label of "unique," my mind was closed. Having it open now has been a brilliant journey for me, unashamedly and rigorously searching for answers to some of life's toughest questions and situations. I may never figure them out, but that is no reason to stop pushing the limits of the human mind in favor of a supernatural cop-out answer.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Bisexuality on the Of"fence"ive

When it comes to stereotypes in the LGBT community, most people have heard the quip "bi now, gay later." It didn't work quite that way for me. In fact, it happened the other way around. When I first came out as bisexual at 16, I grew more attracted to women over time , so much so that I declared myself a lesbian for a brief period when I was 19, and again when I was 20. No matter how hard I wanted to fit  into the "one or the other" category, there was still a part of me that was attracted to men. So for those confused, don't worry. The short version of this sequence is bi-gay-bi-gay-bi. I'm sure there's going to be some of you who don't believe that I've completely figured out my sexuality...and you're right, to a degree. I am not the same bisexual woman I was yesterday, and tomorrow I will not be the bisexual I was today. My preferences shift over time, but it is the degree of those shifts that ensure me that I am, and always will be, part of the bisexual world. I was right the first time.

I'm always going to be learning about my sexuality. My point is, the idea behind the stereotype of "bi now, gay later" is that once one comes out as gay after identifying as bi first, there isn't any going back. Bisexuality is often seen as a transitional phase into gaydom and not a legitimate sexuality in itself. "Fence-sitter" is a term many fellow bisexuals are sure to know, a metaphor used to illustrate the claim that bisexuality is transient. Heterosexuality is on one side of a metaphorical fence, homosexuality on the other, and bisexuality being the fence itself that you must climb down from once you "make up your mind."

 I have been confused about the degree of my bisexuality over the years, leading me to believe I was a lesbian once I developed a strong preference for women. I was never 100% gay, but I assumed that it was okay to label myself this way because I felt I was "close enough." To this day, my preferences still occasionally shift, but I am never 100% one way or the other. That is one thing I am certain will never change. Every time I labelled myself as gay, I would worry about finding a guy I really liked. I've found myself in that position twice now.

Bisexuality is indeed a transitional phase, a "fence" for some, and many gay people I know today identified as bisexual first. My goal here is to increase awareness of people like myself, who saw their gay identities as their transitional period, their "fence." I once believed that my bisexuality would "evolve" into lesbianism, buying into the crap that bisexuality could not stand alone as a permanent sexuality. The only time I was unsure was when I called myself gay. Bisexual is the sexual identity that brings me certainty and happiness.  I envy those who have never had to fight with their sexualities, never having to try out different labels for themselves before settling on one that fit (or no label at all). Although that envy is real, I would not forgo my journey of self-discovery in order to have come to peace with my sexuality sooner. I needed to learn this valuable lesson about myself.

If you are struggling with your sexuality, break down your fence. Don't let anyone tell you you are on the wrong side of it or are sitting on it. Only you can determine where you fit onto the sexuality spectrum, but that can't be done without removing those barriers and trusting your instincts.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Worrying Weigh Too Much

Knowing all the recent events in my life, I have every reason to be happy. I turned 22 last month and got a 2nd tattoo; earned my blue belt in Gensei-Ryu karate; earned A's on most of my school work in every subject; and celebrated my 7-month anniversary with my partner, Josh, two days ago.

Events such as these are typically commemorated with pictures, but I've purposely posted very few of them since November. I've gained 10 pounds and feel, as I put it melodramatically, "like a fatty." Yeah, I know. "Whatever, Christi, 10 pounds." 

My insecurity stems from the harassment I endured through elementary and middle school for being fat, until I joined Weight Watchers at the age of 13 and lost 35 pounds. My mind has been stuck in the distant past, wishing it were realistic for my body to be back to the slim 106 pounds I once was. I know a healthy weight for a young teenage girl does not correspond with that of a young adult woman, but I've grown maybe an inch since then. Because of this, I kept telling myself, "my body couldn't have changed THAT much," even though that's a lie. I have hips and thighs that my 13 year-old self did not. 

The BMI scale's generalized measurements leered at me, reminding me that I'm teetering on the upper end of the "Normal" range for a 5'0 woman, at 127 pounds. I want desperately not to cross that threshold into "Overweight" again. I've went through the weight loss process a second time already, after my first two years of college. I've been beating myself up mentally these past few months, asking myself condescendingly why two times wasn't enough to teach me how to manage my weight.

It didn't matter who told me "you look fine." It didn't matter that I've known for ages that the BMI scale is not right for everyone. All I could think about is "my waist has no business being 30 inches," "my belly is pooching out of this t-shirt," and "look at this porky-ass face," and "most petite women are like 100 pounds and I'm built like a fucking tank. What's wrong with me?" It was shit like this that clogged my mind and still does at times, taking enjoyment away from all the wonderful things going on in my life that I ought to pay more attention to.

I'm more than a quantity of pounds. I'm currently taking care of what I perceive to be my "weight problem." I've never turned to starving myself or purging and never have, so please don't worry. I know what I need to do and I'll do it. A realistic goal and time frame has been set (7 pounds less in 2 months). The only thing that's going to get purged is my defeatist mindset...and maybe the sweets sitting in my cabinet.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Thoughts on Death

A frequent question atheists are asked is something to the effect of, "what do you think happens to you when you die?" My answer? Nothing as important as while you're alive. As human beings, fearing death is common. Religion provides people with answers that, although not verifiable, give them comfort and something to look forward to (or dread).

I'm no less scared scared of death than anyone else. I can't stand looking at anything dead, whether it's roadkill or a person. It bothers me to see to see a tiny bird meet its end at the claws of a hungry cat, but I recognize that we all have to face death eventually (although hopefully not as gruesomely as a predator's prey). I fear death because I feel it's too early for me to go, yet I accept it as a part of my future.

Whatever it is that makes me Christi will be gone once I die, except for in the minds of living people who knew me. This is why I want to live my only life to the fullest. I will enjoy the company of people I love and forget the people who give me problems. Life's much too short to worry about the things I can't change. I have to remind myself of this frequently because my anxiety disorder sometimes distracts me from what's important. My ultimate goal is making as many positive differences in the world as I can, no matter how small...this includes after I die.

For this reason, I'm seriously considering donating my body to medical research after I die. As an advocate of science education, I can't think of a better way to use my body post-mortem. It sure sounds more exciting to me than rotting in the ground or being burned to ashes. It makes me uncomfortable to think about me as a cadaver, cringing at the thought of being cut open. Then again, will I feel anything when the time comes? Of course not. I won't be using that body to live in anymore. It's the same reason I feel silly for imagining how gross it is to decompose in a grave or be melted down into dust.

I'm not ready to go yet. I'm a young woman with what I hope is a full life ahead of me. I take the time to appreciate the little things while I can, such as reveling over a colorful sunset at the end of the day, the joy I receive from embracing a loved one, or the warmth in my heart I experience when a cat sits on my lap. I might not be here tomorrow and that's enough incentive for me to do all I can to make the world a better place today. What happens to me after I die is of no concern (other than where I want my body to go), only what happens during my life.