Like It’s So Tragic


Bi Pride

My family is very closet-homophobic. How closet? I didn’t find out until I came out.

I always kinda knew I liked girls, too, it was just a thing to me. I mean, I’m one of those people that doesn’t give a shit really what people have in their pants. It just happens. I like people, not necessarily parts. I don’t have to be a breeder, and maybe that’s the part that bugs them (especially that I may have POF).

Whatever- not here to justify myself. I think I’m fucking awesome.

My mom literally didn’t believe me for a while. Which didn’t bother me almost, because she’s kinda not the best person in the world in my book, so validating myself to her wasn’t a big thing. But then she actually started making fun of me for it, throwing out random things like, “dike” and “freak” just to piss me off. And it would always be in blatant public, and again so random that either I would be so shocked I wouldn’t know how to react, or her friends or even complete strangers wouldn’t know how to react. Humiliating bitch.

The rest of her family was weird. They almost don’t consider homosexuality a thing. They’re all dictors and nurses, so to them it’s purely hormonal. “Most likely a phase.” Seriously, one day I blew up at all of them over the holidays and screamed, “WHAT IF IT IS A FUCKING PHASE? I’M STILL STUCK WITH YOU! DO I MEAN ANY LESS? DEAL WITH IT!”

Bipolar moment maybe.

So aside from such moment, my father was rather odd about the subject. I get my lack of confrontation from him, so he avoided it. Didn’t really bother me. He kind of….respects it? Is that the right word? I guess avoiding it is better than being an ass about it, I mean. Like, I have transgender friends, and he refers to them by the right pronouns all the time and he isn’t an ass (well, he’s an ass, but in his traditional sense).

My godfather, Don, was the tiebreaker on my dad,, I’m gonna say. He’s the best. Like, if anyone should be my dad, it’s him (personally, I think he’s a little bi-curious too, but I keep my mouth shut). Almost dying a few time kinda makes you more tolerant of people I guess. YOLO. We pick out clothes together sometimes. He has really good taste in women’s clothing.

Okay, manic rant over with. Thank you.

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