Late Lesbian Loser Moments

(An excerpt of a previous draft of “No Gold Star” – my one person play… part of this still made the cut.)

I feel like the 16 year old who still has’t got her period. Or the only virgin in the room. The other lesbians talk about the days of the L word, and how they saw the actors from the show when they were in the lesbian club that no longer exists. They mention their ex girlfriends in funny or interesting anecdotes and everyone nods in knowing agreement or appreciation. They share photos of themselves going to that lesbian concert wearing their out-of-date lesbian fashion. And they all laugh. They joke about the time they hooked up with their friend, reminiscing and giving critiques of how the other was in bed.

So what do I say?

Nothing. I don’t want to turn it into a therapy session, nor do I feel like joking about the time I hooked up with the guy in Mexico and afterwards he crossed himself…. Because I’m amazing… That story is hilarious for a straight woman audience, but it will taint my validity in this group. It’s hard to equate a lesbian as being good in bed with men. Hey, I had standards for myself – sex was much about ego for me – Also, I was making the best of what I had – before I was with women. But that’s not really a light conversation when you are just meeting people, when you are expected to blend. In fact, that story doesn’t really resonate for the straight posse either – it just furthers their belief that you aren’t actually gay – you’re just trying it on for size. And it would convince the bisexuals that you’re on their team… which isn’t the worst thing – but it’s not the truth. You’re just a specific kind of gay. So instead of getting into a whole speech about how you are a special kind of snowflake, you just nod, and laugh, and hope that the conversation shifts back to what everyone was up to last weekend.

Or you can tell your truth. You can find yourself in a new closet if you aren’t careful.

Unravelling the Gay

Raphael_Kirchner_Damen_bei_Toilette

Each time I have an “aha’ moment about my past. A clue that I “should have known” earlier; like choosing to play the trombone in grade 7 band, or only playing ‘doctor’ with girls, or feeling completely repulsed the first time a guy I had a crush on was about to make a move… why didn’t I want this? This is what I wanted, right? A boyfriend?…

These memories can both make me laugh at the truth of who I was/am, and at the same time can make me so so so angry that I didn’t know. Because how could I know? I didn’t have a chance of knowing. Lesbians didn’t exist in the real world. They were an insult or a warning. They weren’t living breathing people just like me. They were definitely not me. Me – a well brought up girl from a neighbourhood that didn’t house divorcees let alone Lesbians. A highland dancer and a ballerina. A recipient of a government scholarship for achieving high grades. No, if lesbians did in fact exist, they were about as far away from me as a super hero or a fairy princess, without the positive reviews.

So how to I rectify all that time lost? All those years making due with a false sexuality? All those passed opportunities – when I knew, I could feel that I was different – but being gay was not even an option. It wasn’t even a question I could sincerely ask myself.

I could have dated that girl in my improv class. I could have stayed best friends with that boyfriend from years ago, instead of dating him and then breaking his heart. I could have bypassed all or most of those awkward and unsatisfying hookups and crushes and relationships with the wrong gender. Could have avoided stretching my wavering sexual fluidity as far as it could reach in the direction of ‘straight’. I could have understood that my love for my male friends was just that – love for a friend. I could have kissed that girl and that girl and that girl and let myself love it – not had to pretend it was just for show. I could have made room for desire.

But now, I’m all the way over here. 37, not that old, but not that young either. I have a wonderful partner – one that I love, one I would be stupid to let go of. I went from married to a man, to realizing I was gay, to almost immediately falling in love and settling in with an amazing woman. The lesbian dream right? Well, the last bit. I remember watching the Tig documentary on Netflix and crying because I wanted what she and her partner had. It is the dream. I just can’t seem to let go of the grief from all the time and opportunities lost, passed over. The privilege of being able to explore and express my true sexuality from the time it started to bloom. The ability to learn and make mistakes and collect stories that I could actually own – rather than ones I borrowed or mimicked from the wrong examples shown to me. To have exes I can actually refer to when having normal conversations with my peers.

I funneled my anger and resentment toward the male – female relationship by trying to turn the tables and make men objects. I practiced then perfected it – taking mental notes from Sex and the City, which I worshiped. I twisted my own sexuality so far around in my head to justify the very blatant ways I did not fit in. The thoughts that shamed me the most I either ignored, denied or fetishized.

I’m still unraveling it. Still making sense of it. I have a late-blooming friend who once said to me “It took me two years to unravel all the lies I told myself.” She came out in her late twenties. I would expect it might take me a little bit longer. I meditate. I work on living in the moment. I try not to dwell. I count my blessings – I have so many. And I write, I share my story – hoping it might help someone else heal, or avoid the injury in the first place.

Kissing Frogs

Kissing you is like how I thought it should be

But then I kissed so many frogs

I forgot what I knew

And kissing green seemed normal

Became normal – I stopped questioning

Now I remember the dreams the original dreams

Of lust and love and the magic in between

You bring out my insecurity

It’s easy to be confident standing beside a frog

But now I remember the girl, kissing her reflection

With all the hope, but not enough questions

And all the enthusiasm to master the expected.

I Care What People Think

One unhappy revelation that has come out of my coming out (ha) is the gross truth that I actually care what people think of me. It’s human, don’t beat yourself up about it – that’s what my therapist says – We all care. But I don’t want to!! All my life I’ve prided myself on not caring what people think of me. And that myth has been reinforced by friends and family. I have often gotten “You know what I admire about you? You just do whatever you want – you don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Guess what guys? It’s a big lie! I totally care. I just have added an extra layer on top because I also want you to think that I don’t care what you think. Which, I’ve done a pretty good job doing – I even fooled myself. But not deep down. Deep down I knew that I was motivated by my ego. Wanting to seem carefree, independent, unharmed by other’s opinions, strong, unbreakable. Turns out I’m just another effing human being. Very upsetting. I mean, why the hell would I have gone through so many relationships with men – even getting married – if deep down I didn’t give a rats ass?

I knew early on that I wanted to kiss girls. But each time I made an effort I would get shut down, shamed or teased. So I made a joke of it. I could go from “I want to kiss you” to “Just Kidding!!” in two seconds flat. Luckily I’m a bit funny so I always pulled that shit off. And then I would overcompensate with how much I liked this guy or that guy. The deeper I got into this routine, the harder it became to acknowledge my attraction to women. Who would believe me? I’ve done “straight” so convincingly.

Now I’m not reducing all my experiences with men to such cold and calculating choices – it runs deeper than that – it’s more complicated. But absolutely – if I did not care what people thought I would have been seeking out women at a much younger age.

Oh well. C’est la vie. Lessons learned. With my new knowledge – that I actually care – I am able to navigate my choices with more honesty – and hopefully make better ones in the future. Getting older and smarter, one day at a time.

Writing the Truth in the Moment (and a link to my short film!)

I started keeping a journal when I was about 15 or 16 years old. I embraced my writing at around 23. Most of the work I’ve done has been self-reflective or inspired by what I have already experienced – ‘write what you know’. Through this, I always thought of myself as fairly self-aware – able to point out my flaws and make fun, able to understand my inner workings. This is much of the reason why coming out and coming to terms with my sexuality at 35 was such a jolt to my system – I thought I knew myself.

Looking back, I can see there were topics I shied away from. For instance, I don’t have any written record of my feelings for the first woman I really fell for – even though I remember it so well. I avoided. I pushed it away – it was the kind of thing I couldn’t quite admit on paper. Or maybe I didn’t want anyone to find out the deep truth. I didn’t want evidence. I am not sure.

I let those moments pass and carried forward with my ‘hetero life’, but the feelings stayed in the back of my head. She stayed in the back of my head. I couldn’t explain it, I couldn’t figure it out. The simple answer was too hard to admit.

About 5 or 6 years ago, I started working on a feature film screenplay about a closeted gay woman stuck in a marriage – this later would become the first feature I would produce (currently in post production and in need of funding) titled “Writing Kim”. Prior to producing the feature, I wrote, co-produced and performed in a short film with similar themes titled It’s Not About Kate. When I watch this film now, I can see in my writing that I was too afraid to set the central character free. I wasn’t ready to go there personally, and I wasn’t ready to go there as a writer. I knew my truth lingered under the surface, and that frightened me.

I look forward to writing something where my protagonist allows herself to be. Where she is queer, and it’s no longer an internal struggle. However, for many, not being out is the reality – and I think there is a place for these stories – there is a place for the truth in the present moment.

Everything and nothing has changed

I love her.

It’s hard to sit into my feelings for her when my brain is all over the place – when I am just finding my footing – when at times none of this seems at all real.

My life. Like I am living in an alternate reality. Like all the cells in my body have changed and I am actually a whole new person housing the same old soul. As if my childhood up to last year was an entirely different life – and I actually did die on my way to my first date with her, or perhaps even earlier.

It is like a Murakami novel. Almost real – but not quite. Subtle changes that indicate a large shift. And blatant changes that can only be dealt with my acting as though they are normal.

Sitting on this balcony now seems like an entirely different place than 10 months ago. I sat out here the last days of June – 2am when no one was around – and I looked out. Knowing that everything would change.

Only a couple of weeks later was my first time with a woman. Not the woman I love, but my catalyst. I am grateful for her – bold and unapologetic. In many ways she was a bad idea – but she’s the best bad idea I have ever had, as she set me free from my self made prison and lead me to where I am now. Sitting on my balcony – in love – as my whole self.

nogoldstar

Tag: sex