Keeping [My Passionate Love of Plaid] a Secret

Wow, so I have disappeared for the last couple of months. They've been busy months too.
I met The One I Actually Like (who I call Jo on here) in person, and we had a great weekend. Fantastic, actually. We became an Official Couple (because Facebook Official is the only kind). A couple more months went by and we got even closer, until she visited me in my home state two weeks ago.
For the record, that's a five hour flight and two layovers she went to, coming and going, just to see me for eight days, not a two hour drive. We did pretty much all the sights a nerdy lesbian couple could safely see in this state. We've had issues, we've worked them out, we've realized that a lot of the issues are directly linked to my Issues.
But!
Thrilling as all that was- and let me tell you, there's some great stories- that's not what reminded me that I have a blog. No, what reminded me was a growing pile of things, tipped off by one book, Keeping You a Secret by Julie Anne Peters. I love her work, Define "Normal"  came at a point in my life when I was asking the same exact question. But I was reluctant to open this book because its... well, its just so gay.


Actually, I mean lesbian. Tragic, forbidden love is a heavy focus, same things all over again. I'm sorry, but I hate these things. I still haven't gotten past the third chapter (put it down to write, actually), but that's not really the reason. Two things: I'm tired of reading/watching/hearing about how tortured lesbians are. It's not what I need right now, honestly. I'm still in the hating-myself-for-being-gay thing. I'm dealing with prejudice on a daily basis, usually from well-meaning people who don't get that I'm not a stereotype, and the other gays in town hate me, for some unknown reason. I guess I'm not gay enough, but whatever. I don't want to hear about tragic lovers, I don't need to hear that other girls have it as bad or worse as me, because I get it. It doesn't make me feel better, it makes me feel worse because I can't do much about anything right now, even though I'm trying, and I disagree with some actions others take to spread awareness. I need happy gay stories. I need stories where it doesn't matter if its two guys, two girls, or a boy, a girl, and a wombat. I need hope, goddamnit, and it's hard to feel hopeful when secrecy is in the title.

Actually, that's why I like Bad Girl so much. It may be a sometimes clumsily written erotica, but the relationships and coming out is treated in a normal way. It isn't downplayed as nothing, but its not a giant dramatic heartbreaking affair either. It's what I needed to hear when I was coming out.

Thing 2: Coming out stories... This is less a problem with the book and more a problem with me. I.. I don't really have one. Not in the traditional sense. Not like, "I kissed a girl and realized I might be a homosexual." Or falling in love and getting a crush before realizing you might be a lesbo. I just kinda... knew, I guess. I saw beautiful women on tv and movies and thought, damn. I don't just want to be them, I want to be with them. I was way more attracted to them than the men, and when I realized that I was salivating over Angelina Jolie instead of George Clooney, it clicked. I was twelve. I hadn't kissed anyone, or dated anyone.
It almost bothers me because I know very few gays (and no lezzies) who knew they were gay without kissing someone. But even that is what bothers me. The real problem is that I faked it, went along with the lie because I was so terrified of being imperfect in anyone's eyes. I faked having crushes. I faked having my heart broken. I dated, flirted, kissed, and never girls. I did everything I could to hide my rampant crushes on girls, pretending to like their male friends (usually gay, btw) so it wouldn't be weird if someone saw me looking their way. I was damn good at it. I told myself that it was okay, that I would be fine, and I tried so hard to like boys. I really did. I even convinced myself I was bi. But let's tell the truth- I was only bi for the really, really, hot guys. The ones my girlfriend admires- that kind of hot.
Why did I do it? I nearly killed myself, hiding, and I didn't just hide liking chicks- I covered anything that might give me away. I got good at dancing the line of "all for the gays but TOTALLY NOT ONE, OKAY, I AM SOOO STRAIGHT." And now, I'm having to relearn how to be me. I'm trying all the hobbies I gave up. I'm fighting people who say that's not who I am, whether they be the ones that aren't used to me being gay, or used to me liking the dykish hobbies that I've loved so secretly.
So yeah, I fucked up. I hate myself for hiding, but it couldn't be helped. I wish I wasn't one of those who knew and hid. I wish I had been one of those who suddenly realized after a forbidden kiss. I wish I knew of more chicks like me, but I don't.

Well that got heavy. From my reluctant reading of Keeping You a Secret to keeping my passionate love of plaid and building things a secret.
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