Today it was Canterbury Pride.
And, just like last year, the weather was perfect.
I remember how warm it was, how happy everyone was last year. I arrived at the field and got smothered in glitter by a girl I barely knew and was embraced by a group freely dancing to the crackly speaker music at 3 in the afternoon.
I was wearing my newly sewn mustard dungarees. A girl shouted at me that she loved them.
I wandered around and bought some earrings shaped like mushrooms from an art student and sat on a barrel of hay with my friends listening to middle aged local artists performing quirky love songs.
But I wasn't happy.
I was surounded by proud straight allies and proud queer folx and I, closeted and scared, was neither.
A year on and I am no longer closeted, still terrified of women, but more at peace with myself and my own sexuality. Maybe this year I'd feel more at home at Pride.
Coming out wasn't an experience I ever wanted. Having spent years pushing the quietly queer, not quite straight side of me as far away as I could. But when I finally faced it- finally looked myself in the eye and admitted that maybe, just maybe I did like women- I no longer wanted to push it away.
The people closest are always the hardest to be honest with. I'm getting there slowly. This essay is on my long forgotten blog and not my facebook page.
But I'm writing it and I'm sharing it and I'm proud of it.
Being bisexual, it can feel simpler to squash yourself into a hetero mold, to bring home men and leave women in the dark of nightcubs and dancefloors.
Being bisexual, it is hard for people to see you as anything other than straight when you are in love with a man.
Being bisexual, it can be difficult to feel valid in LGBTQ spaces, despite being a part of the acronym.
But I am valid. And I'm not a proud straight ally, dancing with the glorious drag queens at pride. I am queer.
And what a lovely thing to be.
