Have Yourself a Closeted Christmas?

I should start this story with a little rant at my ex. Because I tried so hard to prevent him from this situation, I told him almost exactly that this is what would happen.

My ex, I’ve referred to him as Cody here before, is a bisexual male. But really only in recent months has he found comfort in that. His father is a retired tough guy, borderline redneck, who despite being soft spoken often throws around a lot of stereotypical masculinity; he and his step-mom have an iffy relationship at best. His mom passed when he was young, and her whole family is very super religious, and thus homophobic. So, in his childhood, there was quite likely a lot of shame passed around at the notion of being gay. And, there’s nothing really “stereotypically gay” about him; he’s a big manly man with interests in working with big metal pieces and cars.

Considering the blog I keep and the desires I have with my life, we talk about sexuality a lot, and it often comes back to our own sexuality. I remember a day back when he wasn’t even considering letting another man into his life (he only had one boyfriend as a teenager who broke his heart pretty bad), but we were talking in his car.

“You have to come out to your parents,” I said.

“Nope. I’ll never have another boyfriend, it’s not a problem.”

“That is quite a naive attitude. What if you do? You should have something prepared with your family, you can’t just surprise them with a man.”

“They wouldn’t accept me.”

“Has your father actually flat out said, ‘no son of mine’?”

He hesitated. “Well, actually, he’s never really directly said anything.”

“The fear is normal, Cody. You have to push past it and come out.”

“I’ll do what I fucking want.”

“Whatever.”

Months later, we sat in my front yard and talked for a good hour. We had been broken up for a couple months, and he was hanging out on websites talking to men.

“You gotta come out to your family,” I said once again.

“No, they would reject me.”

“Look. Someday, at the rate you’re going, you’re going to meet an amazing guy, one you’re crazy about, one that means more to you than flirting and maybe sex. And he won’t want to be a secret, and you won’t want him to be a secret. You have to lay that floor work out of coming out, or else it’s going to be something painful you’re doing together.”

“I’ll deal with it then.”

Stubborn. Mother. Fucker.

So now, sure enough, he’s met a guy. An amazing guy. They’ve been together about a week now, known each other not much longer. As somebody whose outside looking in, I have to be careful with my language here… I can tell that there’s something about them together that’s intense and close. They haven’t known each other long, as I said, but they care about each other a lot, and it sorta feels like they’ve known each other longer. I find it amazing that in their lovebird haze either of them is still making logical decisions.

And now the painful stuff begins.

Cody spent last night with his family bursting at the seams to share his love with his family, but never gave himself the room to. Now instead of having to come out with just one fact, I’m bisexual, he has to come out with two doozies, I’m bisexual and here’s my boyfriend.

And finally, almost six hundred words in, the part that really grinds my gears and inspired me to write this post.

Cody was seeing a girl for awhile, not a relationship but getting to know each other for potentially later on. She, from description, seems like a really nice girl. He struggled the whole time with her inclination to religion, knowing the religious from personal experience to be well frankly pricks. But he understood that sexual violence led her there, and had to respect that it was her way of coping. And even if the last set of religious folks in his life sucked, she seemed like a really sweet girl.

So a couple days ago he had to break the news, and not really in a way he wanted to. She randomly appeared at his house to talk the future of their dating relationship. Which is when he had to say, “yeah … so I found somebody …”

Now, anybody would hate to do that to another person, especially somebody whose been pretty nice to you. And don’t get me wrong, I feel some level of sympathy for her.

But later that night they sat on the phone and talked about life. Up to this point, she seemed pretty understanding. He mentioned how crazy he is about his man, but how hard it is to be closeted. She didn’t understand and refused to understand. Then the crying began. For a half an hour.

“Because you’re … this way,” she said, barely disguising the tone of disgust, “my heart is broken.”

As me and him talked about it later, I had to hear about the psychological impact on her of people who are “bisexual but not really.”

So, here I am, attempting to recreate the *other* rant I had last night.

First off, there is no such thing as a “bisexual but not really”. All people deal with their sexuality in different ways, and when you’re bisexual, the easiest is to stay at the polar that is most accepting of you, because the prejudice comes from the straight AND gay community. Which, often, is about (intentionally or not) “disguising” as a straight person. All I mean by that, by the way, is ending up in a pattern of dating the same gender; or even denying your own ability to go to the other. Cody himself once said, “I am bisexual, but I’ll never be with a man.” He spoke from a broken heart, and he spoke from cultural insecurity. He wasn’t a “fake bisexual.” So, let’s stop blaming ourselves as the LGBTQIA for other people’s prejudices on us.

Second off, fuck her. Does she have a right to have a broken heart? Absolutely. It does not even matter that they didn’t have sex or really any type of sexual relationship. Love is a complex emotional journey. Sometimes there’s love before the first kiss; sometimes there’s love after the hundredth sexual encounter. There’s no real controlling it. And yeah, it’s cool to be upset about not getting your way in the game of love.

But the way she handled it, pisses me the fuck off. Perhaps because I get that it’s the start of something.

He expressed his fears and concerns and plights. He needed a friend, which she had been up to this point. But it got to somewhere weird that her religion doesn’t want her to understand. So she shut down and began crying about her own heartache, because obviously he was overstating the importance of his problems.

I think of it like the emotional equivalent to, “oh, I’m sure you’re just exaggerating the racism over your blackness at your job. Racism is old news! Now let’s talk about how I can’t get hired at places because of those stupid equality laws we put in place for you.”

Fuck her. Fuck her privilege. That is exactly what she played out right there. She has the one-up culturally in her religion and her sexual orientation, so fuck my agnostic bisexual friend.

Like I implied before, what bothers me isn’t really personally about her. It’s about an understanding of the world I live in that I somehow didn’t have before.

Seeing Cody and his man together, I see a fresh relationship. But I also see something amazing that I can’t put into words, something I’ve never seen in a couple before. Maybe it’s just because I have a history with Cody and, even if we don’t work as a couple, I want to see him happy. But there is something special about them together. And I’m realizing that the world might ruin that for them.

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~ by Stefani Vonne on 12/25/2011.

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