Aaand… I’m in a relationship. With a girl. And she’s great! Except now things are changing. I find myself standing in line for a croissant and tea (I know, let’s leave that alone) and I’m blatantly gawking at the arms of the guy across the way. I call it ‘envy’ because initially it feels like I want his arms, literally. I’m just jealous mine don’t look that good. I go on being envious of every single attractive guy I see for at least a year. But I’ve still not equated that envy with attraction. To me it seemed like I was being peculiar and obsessive about the bodies and faces of other guys, and for the most part it wasn’t so distracting as to be unmanageable.

Real College!, Part Panic

A boy likes me. I’m a year and a half into a relationship with a girl, and a boy likes me. Great. Okay. Immediately something shifts in my brain. Guys become tangible. I like them. I like that one. And so I do what anyone would do if they were me, I spend my days at school and my nights on the couch contemplating a universe where I like boys. I spend a week in panic mode. Am I gay? Am I gay? Am I gay? Stop it, you’re not getting anywhere. I start texting my roommate because I can’t deliberate solo anymore. The texts look something like this:

Am I gay?

Am I gay?

Am I gay?

She doesn’t know. How could she? But someone must. I still find my girlfriend attractive, and so I contemplate that. I should tell her how I’m feeling. And so I do. I sit her down, look at her, and try to be lighthearted about it. She thinks something terrible has happened, like I’ve cheated on her or whatever it is people think when the other has ‘something to tell them’.

“I’m bi.”

Well, that was easy. I’ve never said it out loud, but it feels right. Except she’s not taking it the best way. There’s an awkward silence in the room and she says she needs a minute to get her head around it. That makes sense, okay. I wait. And then it goes away. We don’t talk about it. I rationalize that that’s okay too, but this was an aspect of myself I hadn’t shared with anyone. Before long I felt dejected. It doesn’t impact our straight relationship, but I’d still wonder at night. The uncertainty I had about myself began to grow.

It’s not you, it’s me.

It really was. And we cry and I feel like the worst person in the world but I had to. There was just no way around it. I tell her it’s temporary, and I mean it.

And then there’s a guy in my bed. Kissing a guy is like (okay. I went through about 10 synonyms for aggressive, and several attempts to metaphorically equate their strength to that of a wall. If you don’t know what kissing a guy is like you’ll have to kiss one because I can’t do it justice here.). I enjoy it but when it’s over I just feel guilty and strange. I surmise that the guilt and strangeness must mean I’m not that into them. Problem solved. I go back to my girlfriend. We date for another year, all the while it starts to come out one way or another that I’m into guys. I don’t mind, as I prefer people to know. It happens very organically, and before long I’m out to most everyone who knows me at school. And then I graduate.

I graduated!

I pack up my stuff and head home to New Jersey. The liberal freedom I’d come to love was only 5 hours away but I might as well have been on a different planet. My relationship ends shortly thereafter (happy new year), and now I’m single and bi for the first time ever. What should I do? I download those apps, you know the ones. All of ‘em. I go app crazy. But it becomes immediately clear just from five minutes of window shopping that hookups aren’t for me.

Crap. It’s not like there’s an open and accessible gay community around the corner. I could be content and just be alone for a while. And so that’s what I decide.

Parents

Coming out is less exciting than I would’ve figured. I was home a month before I decided to tell my best friend. She just gets annoyed that I hadn’t told her sooner. Too bad I’ve still got to less-than-excitingly tell my parents. I’d probably hold off on telling them until it was relevant except I’ve got a Valentine back in Rochester whom I’m flying to see. I’ve never flown to see anyone I like and now I’m doing that and committing to the idea of going on a date with a guy. In public. I figure I’ll casually mention it to my mom on the way to the airport.

Does this story have a moral?

Okay. So it’s apparent this story could go on for as long as my life does (approx. 170 years). Here are some things I’ve figured out about coming out and being bi: