#I had a trans woman partner who got bullied with the word queer and she didn’t like it. that does actually happen!

[cauldronofmorning]

“Queer is a slur is never in good faith just a terf dogwhistle” frustrates me so much.

[sophygurl]

Thoughts for National Coming Out Day in this year of our lord twentyGAYteen:

1. When I was a teenager, I knew I was straight. In my 20′s, I knew I was bi. In my 30′s, I knew I was pan. I’m in my 40′s now and it’s gotten complex.

I’m non-mono romantically and sexually attracted, as in I have attraction to multiple genders. 

But I’m also suspecting more and more that I fall on the ace spectrum along the lines of akoisexual. I experience attraction, I like the idea of dating and relationships, but I don’t like the feeling of being attracted to, and the reality of dating or sex or being in a relationship feels yucky to me. Some of this might be due to PTSD stuff and/or other medical reasons. But it also might just be who I am. It could be a combo of both. Whatever the case, I’m cool being single.

I’m also poly, and I know not everyone thinks polyamory belongs under the queer/lgbtetc. umbrella, but for me it most definitely fits as part of my overall orientation and identity. When I was dating, I did mono or poly relating equally, but FELT poly whichever I was doing. And as a singleton now, I still FEEL poly. It’s important to me. And my platonic life partners still feel like a poly community to me. We have each other in ways that significant others do but just minus the sex and romance. 

I’m also genderqueer, and I’ve thought a lot about what that means to me individually. I don’t consider myself trans or non-binary. There’s a lot of complicated and personal reasons why that is the case for me, but it ends up sounding like gatekeeping because other people might share similarities to my situation but do consider themselves trans and/or enby, so we’ll just leave it as - it’s just how I personally do and don’t identify. I feel that I have a multiplicity of gender, including feminine and masculine both. But I am also very comfortable with my assigned bio sex as female. It’s my gender that’s queer - not my sex. For some people it’s the other way around, or both. 

All of this is long-winded and complex, and so much easier summed up as queer, so mostly I just go with queer. Also because apparently queer is having to be re-reclaimed these days which pisses me off so I’m just gonna use the word queer as often as possible. Queer. Queer. Queer! 

2. I’m out, open, proud, and loud about my identities. This is mostly because I’m just an obnoxious self-discloser in general and will tell anyone anything about myself at the slightest provocation. 

BUT Also, I do think it is very important for the people who can and want to be out to do so. Someone has to answer questions and challenge norms and be an example to young folk and make all this shit visible and normalized. And since I have no qualms about being out, I am happy to do these things for the folks who can’t or just choose not to. Because that shit is valid as hell, too. 

There are so many many reasons why someone might not feel safe to come out, or ready to come out, or not want to come out fully, or might just want to come out to some people and not others, or might want to come out about some aspects of their identities and not others, or might want to be fully out but not be bugged or questioned about it beyond stating what is true about themselves, etc. All of that is valid. 

But I’m here and openly queer and ready to talk about it. So feel free to ask me about my queerness. (This goes for other shit in my life, too. For example, I will answer questions about my chronic illnesses or my mental illnesses or about living on disability benefits or about being an abuse survivor or about my favorite books or my cats or whatever the fuck.) 

Leave the people who want their privacy alone. But I’m someone you can come at, as long as you’re polite and respectful about it. 

3. My coming out stories are kinda weird. Because my life has been kinda weird. So like, my dad came out to me when I was around 10 and my parents were splitting up. It came out along with a whole bunch of other stuff about the dysfunctional aspects of my parent’s marriage and some wrong things my dad did which is maybe the one thing I won’t talk publicly about yet because it’s not really my story to tell but I do talk about it privately. But so anyway. Yea.

My parents split up, my dad came out as gay and left the ministry as a result, and he moved out of town. This was in the mid-80′s in a conservative area of the midwest, so it was not a thing that was talked about publicly. I did not tell any of my friends for years. One friend found out by snooping through my things and then told me. Another friend and I got talking because he had a gay older brother and we were safe people to talk to about this thing (it later turned out we were both queer too but I sure didn’t know back then and I think he was probably in early figuring it out stages himself at the time). 

I didn’t tell anyone else until I got to college. Not even my bestest friend knew. So first things first - I had to come out about my dad being gay.

I didn’t personally have an issue with my dad’s gayness. I just knew other people were likely to, and I was being actively bullied by half the student body already and if this secret came out it would just have given them more fodder, so I kept it in. Turns out, some of my friends had figured it out anyway and were fine with it. And all of my friends were great about it once they were told. 

But not only was my dad gay, but my parents were very liberal and we had family friends who were gay, and my parents talked openly with me about trans people and intersex people and many other things so it was not an issue for me. I used to sometimes wonder if I might be gay and then go, nope, I like boys too much! lol

So then I got to college. And met and befriended people who were bisexual or at least bi-curious and it got me thinking... and one day while out thinking I caught myself watching a woman’s butt wiggling as she walked in front of me, and I realized that I enjoyed watching such things a lot, and the lightbulb clicked on like ooohhhhhhh I’m bisexual! 

My friends who were fine about my dad being gay were equally fine about my bisexuality. I mean, listen, some of them were conservative Christians who believed I was probably going to end up in hell some day - but they probably thought that about me before this realization for other reasons anyway - and they still loved and accepted me as a person, which is what mattered to me. I was a little worried to tell my dad because I knew not all gay people accepted bi people, but he was fine about it. 

The funny part was my mom. When I went off to college, my mom started doing as much self-exploration as I was doing. So we kept coming to the same realizations around the same time. Bisexuality, polyamory, Unitarian Universalism, etc. It was like - I discovered this new thing about myself ... oh yea, me too! lol

I’ve never had a negative coming out experience with anyone I actually care about. I’ve had strangers or casual acquaintances on the internet react badly, but that shit doesn’t bother me. 

I know I am incredibly lucky - both in how easy it’s been for me to figure out and accept my own identities, and in how easy it’s been for the people in my life to accept them and me. I remember I told my bestest friend about my bisexuality when I had just broken up with my first partner - a guy - and was heart broken and going to come live with her for a little bit until I got my life sorted back out a bit. I wanted her to know, in case I started to date a woman. But I also didn’t want her to worry about the whole living in the same space thing, so I assured her I wasn’t attracted to her in that way. She very comically asked me why, wasn’t she attractive enough, and acted offended, which was just the perfect reaction and I will love her forever for that. 

Not only have I never had a bad coming out experience, but I know that my coming out has directly helped others to come to terms with their identities, and has helped to educate open minded but unaware allies about lots of things. So I am very fortunate. 

And this is a huge part of why I can so easily and comfortably be out and proud. Not everyone gets to have the experiences that I’ve had. So if there is anything I can do to pay this shit forward and be there for other queer folk, I’m gonna always do it. 

I’m here and I’m safe to come out to. I will hold your secret as confidential. I will help you open up about it if that’s your desire. I will support you as you question and figure shit out. I will help you find resources. I will believe you. I will accept you. I will help raise your voice. I will be your voice if you can’t speak up for yourself. I will fight off your bullies. I will field your ridiculous questions. I will listen. I will hear you. I will tell you that you are not alone. 

[christopherokamoto]

"My dearest gays and lesbians —

I’ve loved you since before I even knew you. From a young age, I was drawn to your transgressive sexuality and gender expression, your courage to be yourselves in the face of oppression, your fabulous rainbows and your sensible shoes.

I’ve marched in your parades, joined and organized protests for your rights, volunteered with your local groups and worked for your most prominent national organization.

I’ve loved you fiercely and advocated for you tirelessly. But I’ve finally accepted the fact that you will never love me back because I’m a bisexual woman, and you have shown me time and again that you are not here for me or my community, despite the numerous disparities we face in comparison to you and the non-LGBTQ community.

You have shown me time and again that you are not here for me or my community.

When I was a newly out baby bi, I co-founded the first ever LGBT student organization at my Southern Baptist university with this beautiful and charming lesbian classmate with whom I fell madly and angstily in love. She was the first of many who told me I should just “choose” to be a lesbian.

Then there was the time I was at a drag show and the performer came up to me and asked me why I was at a gay bar. I said “I’m bisexual” into her microphone, and she cackled wildly and said, “Oh honey, we all know that’s just a stop on the way to gay town.”

In grad school, a “straight” female friend repeatedly called me greedy and suggested I was promiscuous whenever I mentioned my bisexuality, even though we slept together several times. But she wasn’t gay, and apparently bisexuality wasn’t a valid option.

Then there were the countless times one of you told me my identity wasn’t real, was just a phase, or that I wasn’t committed to the cause because I could choose to pass as straight.

There were the countless times one of you told me my identity wasn’t real.

Too many times, I thought you might be right, that my identity was something strange, that maybe I was fooling myself about my lifetime of attraction to people across the gender spectrum. And I sincerely thought if I just kept fighting for you, for all of us, that I would prove myself worthy of your love and acceptance.

Then I took a two-year fellowship working at the nation’s largest LGBT civil rights nonprofit. I knew going in that, like any large movement organization, they had a rocky past with both trans and bi communities, and a tendency toward centrist politics. But I thought maybe I could effect change from within. What a silly, naive bisexual I was.

By far, the most pervasive biphobia I have ever experienced was during my two years working at the Human Rights Campaign. When I started in 2014, the Human Rights Campaign website didn’t have a single bi-specific resource, much less a topics page about one of the four identities it claimed to represent.

The staff who identified as bisexual were rarely empowered or allowed to do bi-specific programmatic work, if they were even out to their gay and lesbian colleagues.

I met bi community leaders, and tried desperately to heal the deep rifts and end the organization’s longstanding neglect. I believed HRC could do better for a group that constituted half of the LGBTQ community.

In my two-year tenure, with the support and feedback of a small crew of wonderful coworkers, I created the content for a bisexual page on the HRC website, wrote three of the five publications for the page and edited a fourth, all co-branded with national bi advocacy organizations, wrote nearly all of the bi-related blog content and op-eds, organized an employee resource group for bi, queer, pansexual and fluid (bi+) coworkers, worked with the diversity staff to bring in bi community leaders to do trainings, developed and conducted my own bi community cultural competency trainings for board members, staff, and volunteers and coordinated all of HRC’s programming for Bisexual Awareness Week.

When bi community leader Robyn Ochs came to do a training with HRC staff, a cis white gay man who directed the organization’s entire field operation said, “You know, I just never think about bisexual people.” No shit you don’t.

Six months have passed since I left HRC, and it seems that a handful of blog and social media posts during Bisexual Awareness Week last September is the only thing the organization could muster in my absence. Half of my out bi+ coworkers (love y’all!) have left and the others don’t have positions that allow them to do the kind of work I was able to do.

It seems clear that what started with one angry bisexual attempting to effect change from within also ended when that same angry bisexual left.

To be fair, HRC isn’t by any means the only national LGBTQ organization with this problem. Several national groups have a habit of using “gay and transgender” as shorthand for the LGBTQ community, completely erasing us. Although a few of our national LGBTQ organizations have openly bi+ staff who are doing amazing bi-specific advocacy, our numbers are dwindling and virtually no one else is doing bi work in these organizations except for those few brave souls.

To put it bluntly, when bisexual people aren’t around to advocate for ourselves and push for change from within, that work simply doesn’t get done, because the vast majority of y’all lesbians and gay men don’t give a shit about us. And yet, we still fight for you and with you.

When Amber Heard got the shit beat out of her by Johnny Depp and the media blamed her bisexuality, you were silent. When right-wing weirdos launched a public attack on a native bi+ leader who spoke at a White House event, more silence. When gay icon Boy George went on a blatantly biphobic Twitter rant, still nothing.

In the words of esteemed and dedicated bi+ leader Faith Cheltenham, former president of BiNet USA and a personal mentor:

Until bisexuals stop being the unmentionables of the LGBTQIA community we will continue to be the punching bags of both gay and straight, with respite nowhere to be found. If bisexuals believe there are circles of influence that they are systematically prevented from accessing to their detriment, they believe correctly.

Until bisexuals find equitable representations of their organizations in litigator roundtables, national and state policy roundtables, legal policy teams, national and state transgender policy roundtables, rapid response communications groups or faith working groups, we should protest our exclusion.

Lesbians and gay men, this angry bisexual is tired of being your afterthought. I’m exhausted by showing up for you, time and again, with no reciprocity. I’m tired of facing more biphobia from organizations that claim to represent bi+ people than I do in the straight cis world.

Lesbians and gay men, this angry bisexual is tired of being your afterthought.

I’m tired of trying to prove that I’m worthy of your love while you seem to forget or deny that I exist.

Bisexual people are tired of being told that our voices, our needs, our lives are a distraction from the “real” issues, when we constitute half of what you claim as your LGBT community.

And more than anything, I am tired of watching my fellow bi+ advocates — beautiful, talented and resilient people — burn out, break down, get fired for standing our ground and take our own lives because you make it so fucking hard for us to feel safe and affirmed.

Even after 15 years of being out, my voice still shakes sometimes when I say the word “bisexual” aloud to one of you, and I get a little jolt of adrenaline, bracing for the snarky comment, the rolled eyes, the dismissal of my existence.

I’m exhausted by showing up for you, time and again, with no reciprocity.

Let me be clear about what is at stake here, lesbians and gays. Bisexual people are literally dying because of your neglect, erasure and exclusion. We are sicker, both physically and mentally, than you are because more of us are closeted from our communities and our healthcare providers.

Our youth face more bullying and harassment and higher risk of suicide than their gay and lesbian peers do, and we all have less social support.

Sixty-one percent of bisexual women such as myself will be raped, beaten or stalked by our intimate partners — and as Heard’s experience shows, our identities will likely be blamed for our own abuse. For the numerous bi+ community members who are also transgender, disabled and/or people of color, these staggering disparities are compounded.

I watched HRC make its own bed in 2016, once again ignoring the voices of the LGBTQ community’s most marginalized members, and dumping its resources into mind bogglingly ill-conceived endorsements, most notably the political campaign of a candidate who waited until the last possible moment to “evolve” on marriage equality (sorry that job didn’t pan out for you, Chad).

I knew the time was coming when bisexuals, queers, transgender people, people of color, undocumented and other marginalized groups within the LGBTQ community would be asked to once again push aside our needs, close ranks with white cis gays and lesbians, and overlook our differences — you know, for the sake of preserving marriage equality.

And sure enough, here we are, fighting for scraps from a table at which we have never been welcome, and once again being told that our needs — our very survival — don’t warrant attention, visibility, funding or resources.

As the LGBTQ community faces an uncertain future under Donald Trump’s presidency, I’m giving up on you, gays and lesbians. I don’t love you the same way anymore. You broke my heart too many times. I will no longer fight for the liberation of people who actively perpetuate my community’s oppression.

I’m too busy just trying to survive."