Welcome to RMB’s Naked Pictures of Faceless People, a series of guest posts from diverse anonymous bloggers. (Read more about NPFP’s origins.) These are the posts that are jumping to get out of us, but for whatever reason — safety, embarrassment, conflict of interest, protection of loved ones’ reputations or feelings, or so on — we don’t or won’t or can’t post at our own blogs. Anyone, whether blogger or reader only, is welcome to submit or discuss a potential post by emailing me at arwyn at raisingmyboychick dot com.
Betrayal: a Letter to My Mom
Did you know it was a betrayal? That your words were a painful slice against some deep part of me that hadn’t even had a chance to bloom? Your words crushed something in me I hadn’t even had a chance to discover.
Did you know those careless, heartless words would echo from your lips, and echo in my head for years, cutting off a piece of me and choking it to death?
Did you know (could you ever know?) that as you said those words – those painful, cutting words – that I had to create an argument against them, a rock solid counter to your statement? It was “just in case,” but really, if I’m honest, it was because I knew who I was even then.
I knew that with all your openness I was and am today the one thing you shut the door on; slamming me into a closet of fear, of denial, of taking the “easy” road of silence, of pretending this would pass or wasn’t real or was something else, of hiding. Somehow I let the one person who should have been able to love me no matter what lock me in a closet where I couldn’t breathe or just be myself.
Mom, those words cut like knives, weighed me down so that I hid for ten years. Maybe it was more; maybe it was less. I hid inside myself, I got by, I did what I was supposed to, and slowly – years after anyone not in my place would have forgotten those words entirely – I felt my heart cracking from the dissonance.
I’m not who you think I am. I’m still me, but I’m different. It’s an awkward feeling. So much of me is the same and yet that one little part I hid away feels huge. It’s as if I hid away a seed, just a tiny speck of what might be, and when I finally opened up the door to take a peek at it, it had grown into a full fledged plant. It was something real and deep and multidimensional, brightly showing me it was time to be me.
I’m bisexual, Mom, and I’ve spent too long being afraid to say that. I’ve been afraid because my mother whom I love, who claims to be open minded and not judgmental, essentially told me if I claimed that part of myself I couldn’t possibly be monogamous. I want to tell her I have nothing against polygamy if it works for the people involved, but that’s an entirely different thing and has nothing to do with me or who I’m attracted to.
I like guys, I like girls, and sometimes I like girly guys and butch girls. It’s simply part of who I am. There are still very few people I’ve come out to – I have you and others who judge what they don’t know to thank for that, Mom – but I’m finally “out” to the most important person; me.
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