Face this, or die (trying)

The pride flag bracelet in my photo is the same one I threw across my bedroom two nights ago during a mega supernova of a panic episode, mixed with the start of suicidal thoughts. I’ve yet to put that bracelet back on. I just can’t.

I bought it a couple months ago to see if it would help me feel better or become more accepting of my sexual identity, and the fact I’m still questioning exactly where I fit on the obnoxiously cheery rainbow flag. I reside in a bustling, queer friendly city in the USA, which means I can’t escape it, and that fact has now become annoying at best.

Until two nights ago, I thought I was chugging along doing what I needed to do to figure myself out in a healthy way. I have two therapists, one of which is a sex therapist. Even my new psych nurse is gay and deals with queer issues. I went out of my comfort zone and dated 3 different women in 3 weeks, and slept with zero of them, instead of fucking away my feelings, which had been my previous M.O.

I’m a cis female, 31, and divorced from a cis man as of two years ago. We were together for 8 years. He was pretty much my entire repertoire of serious sexual experiences and (codependent) relationships.

After I split from my ex, I went through sex binges. First, I slept with a lot of men, then MF couples, including trans humans. Then I slept with more women and an AFAB non-binary human. My shame was mostly kink-related and entangled with not being good enough with my ex everywhere in our relationship, especially in bed. My biggest deepest shameful desire has been ageplay, in which I act out a young toddler girl and am punished with pain by a male authority figure, ideally a daddy, in a sex scene.

But dicks aren’t as sexy as I once accepted them to be. I started talking about this in therapy; with my sister who I’ve started confiding in; and even my last few dates. I actually really liked the last woman, and was hoping to see her again. I feel a lot of shame though, and the urge to avoid her and succumb to depression.

Again, I thought I was doing the work—and to my credit, I was. But something in my soul felt off over the last couple weeks. I went into a super productive and healthy adulting binge: paying parking tickets, washing dishes, organizing, getting prepared for my move next month, eating better, those dates, and even going to my very first queer meetup two nights ago (before the panic set in). I couldn’t pinpoint my truth until two nights ago after the queer meetup. Once I realized it, I started a tailspin (cue panic attack and throwing my pride bracelet, and then the suicidal thoughts). I had been engaging in productive avoidance instead of another sex binge.

And so, my truth is this: I DON’T WANT TO BE GAY or queer or anything else on that stupid fucking cheery rainbow flag. Thinking about it is such a burden. Why is everyone seemingly screaming about their Pride around me when I don’t even want to whisper it??

After the queer meetup, I started journaling about my hyper productive day, and how the meetup was a good sampling of humans that are like me in some “othered” way.

That journaling experience hit on a foundational crux: I’ve dealt with a lot of shit in my life, and I’ve completely rebuilt after a hospitalization for depression a year before I left my codependent marriage. The suicidal ideation at that time was due to a medication side effect that latched onto the realization that if I split from my ex, there would be no reason to continue living, by the way. During my two back to back 1.5 month long hospital stays, I lost my marketing job and went back to square one to become a dog trainer after six months on disability. I told my ex I was leaving and moved back in with my parents for two years while working in a retail pet store. I had nothing left, and not even a remote sense of self: I had taken on the identity and preferences of my ex-husband.

Fast forward, things have been going PHENOMENALLY. I’ve made so much progress, am back out on my own, working as a manager in a job I love, figuring out who I am, and even working on being social again.

But wait—NOW you’re telling me that one thing I was at one point absolutely sure of in regards to my identity—my sexual orientation—has a crack in its foundation, too? Well fuck you, God, Universe, and whatever else that might or might not be out there.

So yet again, that’s why two nights ago I was sobbing and hyperventilating so hard I almost threw up and began questioning whether I can make it through something so big without cutting or killing myself—again.

Today was a little better, mostly because I’ve become pretty disconnected from myself and my emotions. Last night, I re-started up another one of my medications (to aid my antidepressant and mood stabilizer) that I had recently gotten off because I’d been doing so well (and due to side effects).

I know I need to deal with my sexuality, because if I don’t, it might just kill me. So here I am on this Empty Closets forum, taking a step, doing something I can control that will hopefully help me along this next season of my life journey. One day I pray I can decide that I do, in fact, have self-worth; that I can navigate this; that I can be loved and valued by myself and others; and that whatever I do or don’t label myself, I might just be able to but that damned bracelet back on, because it’s just a bracelet after all, not a rainbow monster.

I have to believe my sexuality and coming out eventually will be just one other thing I will have overcome. So keep going, kid. You can do this. Go on, give your inner child a hug. She needs to know her struggles were worth it. Remember how she grew up despite everything and navigated it all. Every. Single. Time.


Hi everyone. I’m queer something—not sure exactly what I want to call it yet—but I want to know in my heart of hearts that I still deserve to survive, live, and thrive.

Thanks for reading.

 

Thanks all . Grateful to have somewhere to turn to. I’m scared of when I start feeling again, but I’ll remember I can use EC as a channel for that.