I hate that girl there,
With her burgundy hair
And cold fire in eyes icy blue.
There's a monster inside her,
Though she artfully hides her
True nature, both jet black and cruel.
The sweet smile she wears
Might really be there,
But demons still play on those lips.
A sneer lies in wait,
A snarl painted in hate,
Shooting rage that consumes all it hits.
I despise that girl there,
With her subzero stare,
And I beg her to leave me alone.
Yet she follows me still,
Her soul making me ill,
Darkness won't let my life be my own.
As I reach for her hand
My heart stops, I can't stand
The truth suddenly so clear to see.
That girl lives in glass
And she lives in my heart.
That monster in the mirror is me.
Tuesday, 7 February 2017
Sometimes lies happen by accident and the truth isn't always obvious, even to the person to whom it belongs.
I have been telling such a lie, but recent events have brought the truth into sharp focus and forced me to confront something that I have been running from for almost as long as I can remember.
My marriage has been a wonderful one. It has given me eight years with my best friend in the entire world and has blessed us with the two most beautiful children to walk the face of it. However, it hasn't always been easy. I have often found myself questioning whether or not my husband was enough to keep the real me at bay, and for a long time, he was. Unfortunately for us and for our marriage, incredibly foolish actions by the both of us forced me to acknowledge that my love for him is no longer enough to keep the truth in its box.
There. I said it.
I've always fucking hated the word 'bisexual', mostly because it is something that I've hidden behind ever since I was sixteen and first began sleeping with girls. I told myself that I liked boys too, and clung onto the bi label like a security blanket that I could deny whenever I felt too frightened by my own feelings. In my late teens and early twenties, I slept with a lot of men and was sure to brag to anyone that would listen about my conquests, desperate to prove to myself that I was enjoying what I was doing. I wasn't.
I have known that I liked girls since I was eleven, when I wanted to kiss my friend on a walk across a field and didn't really understand why. The first girl I ever slept with once told me that she was in love with me and I ran away from her; literally abandoned her in the middle of town and fucked off. We spent time together when we were older, but I never had the guts to tell her how I felt or to even kiss her without some booze inside me first. I will never not think about her with a sad sense of regret; I should have treated her better because she was (and still is) a beautiful human being inside and out.
When I was twenty four, I fell in love with a man and he would eventually go on to become my husband. He knew that I had slept with women and that it was a big part of who I was, but we made it work to our advantage; we used it as a tool to keep things going and, for the first time, I was really enjoying the straight sex that we were having. However, I always knew that there was something else that was more right for me and I never stopped thinking about it; terrified that I'd never get to touch a woman again.
When Adam and I began to crumble, we also began to make mistakes and I realised that I had to face who I was or we were going to implode, taking our friendship and our family with us. He is my soul mate and the thought of not having him in my life was unbearable, so I told him how I felt and that I needed my best friend more than ever. Thankfully, he has been incredibly supportive and understanding and we were able to mutually call time on our marriage whilst still having our friendship to fall back on. Had we waited a bit longer, who knows what carnage would have taken place.
Eventually it was time to come out to my family; not one of whom was the slightest bit surprised by my admission. If anything, they wondered what had taken me so long. I had actually come out to my Mum on a couple of occasions when drunk, but always took it back when I'd sobered up; climbing safely back under my bisexuality blanket when it suited me.
My relationship with Adam was supposed to happen. I was supposed to love him and to create a family with him, but the time has come to let him go and let the real me have her moment in the sun. During our time together, I have watched his confidence and charm grow and I know that I'm giving him a new chance at happiness; he deserves to be with someone that isn't making a compromise - someone that will give themselves to him completely.
I will always be grateful for what he has given me and will love him for as long as I live, but you can't go changing someone's gender to suit your own sexual preferences.
So, there you go. An end and a beginning. A bittersweet liberation for us both, but I can't wait to see what the future holds.
|In the meantime, here is a cliche...|