Laying the Cards Out

Secrets, are they really safe anymore?

What used to be buried under layers of paper and twisted lies, now floats to the top of the internet for the rest of the world and businesses to see.

What would I have to hide?

Plenty of things, but one in particular comes to mind. One that has been so predominate in my thinking in the past year and a half.

It has finally come to the point where I am just going to say it, no more mystery, nor wild guesses. My personality is too unique to be place on a normal spectrum.

I don't care who knows.

I am bisexual. Or better yet, pansexual. Any guy, woman, in any shape or form is welcome to my heart. I love for the sake of loving the individual.

I have been living with confusion for a few years. What I have come to learn is that it doesn't matter who you are attracted to, as much as WHY you are attracted to them. Perhaps I have always enjoyed liking who should be forbidden, such as bad guys, villans, and girls. But I have been very humanist in my interests. It doesn't matter if the guy is effeminate or the girl, butch. The point is that they have an attractive personality, and physical features that I admire.

I have learned to love individuals for who they are, and I'll be damned if I can't teach that lesson to others.

I am used to bullying, and I'm willing to live with it for the rest of my life if it means being true to myself.

Forget the normal lines of society, I live the life that I wish to live. And now, I can live with integrity.

I am part of two societies that encourage and support bisexual women. We are not harlots, and we are not indecicive. Love comes to us in whatever way it prefers. I have an intuition that love will come to me in a very unique way.

I watch the people around me grow, and my inspirations give me strength. I have lived in the LGBTQ community longer than I have imagined. I love these communities, and I would protect them with my life. They are my friends, family, and community. I would give my all to give them strength.

That is the click I have belonged to all my life, though never realized it. Sure, I'll bounce around making friends everywhere. But that is my family. They are who I live and breathe for. I cannot change my life without thinking, who will now be my gay/bi/les/queer/trans best friend? Where will I find the people that I am most comfortable with.

What role does theater have in this? If anything, it made me be more true to myself. I do have rather masculine tendencies, but who wouldn't in this day and age? But to crave a feminity in another to firmly establish that yang of masculinity, or even that oppostite feminity is exactly what I have been desiring.

Bring on the hate... I have crushes on Taylor Swift and Rihanna. I think that Robert Downey Jr. is hot... espcially with Jude Law. Sexuality is sexy, and I refuse to back down from this position. I will find love, and I will marry. Will it be a man or woman, I don't care as long as it's passionate and real.

I conduct other blogs for bisexual sites, and will continue to do so till mu love runs dry (which I doubt). Find me on ShyBi or USBiGirls, I will write about my life, and the establishment of a bisexual identity.

This is my first stand against socital standards. And my past reestablishes my future path. So wish me luck or wish me ill, this is the path that I choose to follow. My sexuality is not crucial to my work, but it is crucial to my personality, and I do not wish to underestimate the love I have. This is my chance to find somone who I truely love. And who I will take care off.

I am bi, and you cannot change that.

Getting Lost in the Closet and How to Get Back Out

Closet.

The word conjures up several different images. Skeletons in the closet, cleaning out the closet, coming out of it...

As Peter, Paul, and Mary would put it, it’s what’s inside that really counts. A room is reflective of the individual who lives in it. But if that is so, what does my closet say of me?

Shelf upon shelf is filled with mementos, clothes, and everything else that I could not fit under my bed or in it’s proper home. Plans for the future are cramped into a space with mismatched evidence of my past. Of course, none of it makes sense. Yet, I know the moment that I clean it out, I will see everything clearly. There will be no mystery of my closet left. There will be no more surprises about myself.

In that regard I am what astrology would call a true Pieces: disorganized to the point that it is predictable, relying on intuition and mystery to fuel dwindling inspiration.

I need my closet to be messy, or my bed, or my room. I dislike being so open and apparent. A messy room is a lived-in room. A pristine room is filled with so much potential. But I digress.
The closet.

My bane, but it could be your best friend.The things that matter most are placed forward, your clothes organized in some order that you prefer. Is it organized by every detail, or by generalizations. Such as shirts are shirts, with  your favorites closest to the door.

My issue is not the ability to clean my room, I fear what cleaning makes me become. The moment I allow myself to clear this gaping closet, is the moment I release the true perfectionist out. Shirts will be organized by color, length, and type; socks perfectly aligned and separated in a similar fashion; shoes, sandals, and slippers aligned in height and popularity.

And once I conquer the closet, I would have to clean the rest of my room to a similar perfection. My dresser, bookshelf, and CDs will have to suffer a similar fate. Let us not even mention the filing cabinet.

My lack of action is not because of the lack of energy, rather than the containment of personal idiosyncrasies. I know exactly what my closet would reveal. That woman is far more obsessed and exacting than I make myself seem to be. All these past years I have been trying to relax and ridicule myself into a state of Zen-like balance. Learning to take myself less seriously can only go so far, and looking into what I call my core personality may throw me back into my old habits.

No, I do not want to clean out my closet. No, I do not want to revert back into what I was before. I hook myself onto details in order to avoid what I was molding into being; not crafting my own path.
In the meantime, my method of attack is to approach the closet, my mess, my life, with an exact distance of interest. Interest of purging, but an emotional distance to the project. Perhaps there is a name that others use to this method, but I would argue that I hold too much meaning to too many things. Thus I always wait for the right days to clean, or to drop things from my life. Otherwise, I spend hours sitting on the ground reading old notes from middle school, rather than emptying the box in front of me.

No, I have not come across Narnia or dead bodies in my closet. Avoiding the gravitational pull into that black hole is difficult, but the anchor of my real life will always be right by me. There are crumbs leading me back to the moment that I have to leave. Otherwise I will get stuck back in high school, or elementary school. My mess is my creation, and thus of my own madness.

What do you think your closet says of you?