When my sexuality didn’t fit in a box, I chose to redefine the way I saw love.
For the first thirteen years of my life, I assumed being straight would cover the full extent of my sexual identity. As a kid, I was obsessed with boybands, crushed on several guys while I was in middle school, and spent more time than I’d like to admit dreaming about marrying Prince Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender (a dream that has unfortunately gone nowhere).
The point is I was straighter than uncooked spaghetti. I was so certain my internal dialogue would begin and end with boys, I didn’t bother wondering if there was room for more. Then highschool came along and, overtime, I realized there was.
Suddenly it wasn’t just hot guys I was drooling over, it was a girl with pretty eyes, brown hair, and the cutest fucking smile I’d ever seen.
So maybe I didn’t think anything of it when she recommended a show I spent the next two weeks binge watching, just so I had an excuse to talk to her in class. And maybe I could feign ignorance while I cracked stupid jokes becuase I thought her laugh sounded like sunshine and rainbows and all the other fluffy bullshit my Hot Topic ass secretly loves. But there was no way in hell I could look at her—while she was wearing my damn hoodie—and not realize two things:
1. I love boys but I also love girls 2. Uncooked spaghetti’s only straight until it’s wet
These two little things changed my entire world, but they also posed one of the scariest questions I’ve ever had to answer.