A couple of days ago I sent off an angsty, stilted, apologetic email to one of my closest friends. I told her something I'd been keeping to myself--something I'd been afraid to admit to myself or anyone else, something that had been brewing for a long time. She laughed at me, gently, because she already knew.
Tim knew before I told him. Perhaps, what with my idolization of certain musicians, you all saw this coming before I did.
I'm not, well, straight.
I wasn't going to write about it here. It seemed like a discussion out of place, smack in the middle of posts about knitting, food, books; more than that, I was afraid of offending you, the readers. I was afraid that bisexuality was the last straw. You were already putting up with my atheism, my non-feminism, my unorthodox marriage. I felt like I should apologize.
But I think there's been enough apologizing. I'm not thirteen anymore, scared that a crush on a girlfriend would destroy my life and all prospects of future happiness (and send me to hell). I don't have much else to say on the matter, but I'm happy and relieved to be saying this much. I was sick of pretending. The four-years writer of this blog, the (nearly) 22-year old woman, the one still in love with Tim Put, the author of 200-odd poems, the homebody, the English student? She liked girls the whole time.