have I come out to you?

I am definitely a lesbian. I have definitely been a lesbian my whole life, but I didn't know it until quite recently. I officially “came out” to myself in the beginning of 2012, after the last few months of 2011 left me in a state of depression I hadn't seen the likes of in over a decade. I was distancing myself from my girlfriend Gabriel. I was floundering to save my marriage, which I feared was unsalvageable. I spent months internalizing, trying to figure out what, exactly, was wrong with me. Why wasn't I having sex with my husband? More importantly, why didn't I miss it?

Any attempts to rekindle the passion in our relationship died before the embers could even catch. I even gave him the task of learning how to get me off without using his penis—something which could have been fun, experimental, a way for him to learn new things. But he neglected the prompt, finally trying once half-heartedly, and went right back to expecting sex to be the same old routine it had been before. I didn't want to admit it, but the nagging thought kept returning to me: it isn't the sex I was missing, but the closeness. I still wanted to be close to Ark, but I was just not interested in his genitals at all. Sex fizzles out in a lot of marriages (so I'm told by television and magazines), but this didn't feel like the “normal” decline of sexual activity. I was still a highly sexual being. I was just a highly sexual being who was no longer turned on at the prospect of heterosexual sex.

Sex with Gabriel was a different story. Sex with a woman is something entirely different. One of the last times I saw Gabriel, we had sex on the couch while my boy Kiba sat on the floor in front of us and played video games. With a woman, my sex drive is on seventh gear.

Was it just because my relationship with Gabriel was newer? Was it because the sex was explosive, unpredictable, experimental?

It soon came to me that a large part of my unhappiness was being caused by Gabriel's dependence on me. I needed her to back off. In short, I realized that I could not give her everything she needed in a relationship, and have everything I needed to be a happy person. I had to end it. She could not grow, clinging to me, and I could not breathe.

With my sexual outlet gone, my lack of sex with Ark became more obvious to me. I wondered why I didn't miss it. I still loved every other aspect of our relationship. The illusion of our marriage crumbling proved to be false—a landmine in my mind planted during my depression. Ark loved me just as much as ever, and was continuing to evolve in our polyamorous relationship in ways that I was still apparently too wounded to see. He had opened up, and was finally willing to embrace our relationship as it was, but I was too busy looking at the pieces from the past and trying to fit them all together. I love my husband, but I still needed further introspection.

I guess I realized it slowly. The puzzle of my sexuality came together in achingly tiny bits. And the first time I thought to myself, “Maybe I'm a lesbian,” I thought it jokingly. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became, and the more sense my life made up to that point.

I was never interested in sex. The way other girls looked at boys and would fawn over them, “Ooh, Johnny is so cute! Look at that ass!” It didn't make any sense to me. I dated boys who I came to love, but my love had nothing to do with sex. The first time I saw a penis, I was repulsed by it. My experiences with oral sex were awkward and uncomfortable. When I finally lost my virginity at eighteen, the part I enjoyed was the closeness to the person I loved. It was a special moment, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I figured maybe sex and penises and ejaculate was just something I'd get used to. I figured everyone felt the same way at first—grossed out, squicked by cum, totally grossed out at the idea of putting a penis in your mouth. Only, I never really got used to it. I just accepted it as part of a normal life.

I think that's basically the root of everything here: I grew up assuming I was heterosexual. I mean, everyone else I knew was straight, or at the very least bi-curious, so why wouldn't I be straight? I knew, and later admitted to my sister, that I liked girls. My first long-term, real crush was on a female friend of mine from elementary school. Then, later, in high school, I harbored a crush on a girl from England. Aging into adulthood, I began to amass a collection of Penthouse and Playboy, and probably hundreds of pictures of sexy girls of all sorts on my computer. Girls were a mystery to me. My relationships were years-long and with men, one basically starting right after the other (with overlapping, in one instance).

I didn't grow up in the kind of household where you'd be afraid to be gay. I always knew that if I brought home a girlfriend, Mom would be happy because I was happy. My sister didn't care what I did, either. I just never even considered it, when I was younger. And now, at 26 and married to a man I wasn't willing to lose, I was considering it.

I was terrified.

One of the good “rules of poly” I've seen is that if you're afraid to tell your partner something, that means you need to tell them. I'd been brutally honest and open with Ark up to this point, and now was not a good time to start changing that.

I came out as a lesbian and polyamorous to my family (and the general world) around the same time. I kind of cheated—I deleted my Facebook account and made a new one. At first, I sent out friend requests only to people who already knew or people who I felt were ready for the news. My profile picture was this bright yellow square with the words "nobody knows I'm a lesbian."

My “interested in” said “women.”

My “relationship status” said “in an open relationship.”

I was able to list my partners under my “family,” due to a recent update, which was nice but I'm still waiting to be able to list them all under my relationships, like you can on Fetlife.

I never censored myself on this new profile; I was 100% myself. I was coming out as Blue, the polyamorous panromantic lesbian married to a man, who I intended on keeping, and yes, we were happy and we made the choices we wanted to make for our relationship. I was unapologetic. I even posted links to my personal blog as it was updated, and family members read it. Some even reached out to me about its contents. I have nothing to hide. I am not ashamed of what I am.

Slowly, the rest of my family was added to my friend list. I guess it was a half-assed way of coming out, but I didn't feel the need to really make a big deal out of it. I didn't need to stand before all of them with my poly triad-sometimes-quad-sometimes-pentad (is that a word? it is now.) and tell them to accept us all or lose me. It isn't that dramatic. My family will probably only come in contact with our long-term, committed partnerships, and even then, it will/has been in (mostly) slow and comfortable increments for all of us.

I've been pretty blessed in my family's acceptance of us. I was terrified for a while there and—let's face it—kind of bitter about the “friends” we did lose along the way. You see so many stories about people being disowned by their own parents after coming out of the closet. Do you think it was more for my family to handle, because Ark and I stayed together, or easier because of it?

There are a lot of resources out there for being the “straight spouse” (and a lot of them say that “it's hard to get support during this time”). Don't think I'm downplaying Ark's pain in this. I think we had plenty of time leading up to it—I discussed my fears and feelings with him thoroughly, probably too thoroughly, so when I finally did say, “I think I'm a lesbian,” his reaction was something like, “Well, yeah, I kinda figured.” But we have the kind of relationship and understanding of each other where he realizes that my sexuality is through no fault or shortcoming of his own—it isn't his fault he's a man, and I love him no less for it.

What I didn't find was a lot of information on couples where one of them comes out gay—but they stay together. This view is usually speculated upon as something that's difficult, unfair; it's said that the gay partner usually was cheating with someone of the same sex, or hiding their sexuality. This wasn't true in my case and I refuse to believe I'm the only one out there who's been honest the whole time. My sexuality wasn't just a self-discovery, it was a discovery for both of us. The decisions we made, we made together, as a couple, for the well-being of our relationship both as a couple and as individuals.

In some relationships, it seems, this is an unavoidable end. But for me and Ark, it was a new beginning—to a stronger, unique relationship. Sure, folks look askance at us. They ask probing questions. They don't believe us when we say, yes, we're okay. Nobody has to take sides. He and I are in this together. 'Till death do we part.

Changes

Well, hello there, blog.

It's been a while, and that's my own damn fault, I know.

I needed some time to myself, and some time away from processing publicly. But, I'm back! Kinda! I can't promise I'll stay. But I can promise I'll try, and that's all you get.

I'm back and writing largely because a lot has changed. I'm not actively processing, because I tend to overthink and that may or may not make things worse. But as time goes on, I'm having little mini revelations, and not all of them are good.

I feel like, over the past year or so, I've grown and changed a lot. I'm stretching into my personality—Blue--getting more comfortable and accepting of the things that make me who I am. I've demanded that in no uncertain terms people either must accept me as I am, or not. I'm tired of hiding. It takes its toll on you, when you hold up a different mask for everybody. So I got rid of the masks. Most of them. I kept a few, and I'm sure we'll talk about that at some point, because it has to do with my depression.

What kind of things have changed? I'll try and explain.

1. I've had to accept things about myself.

In my life, things have happened to me, and I thought they were no big deal and I thought they didn't matter and I thought I didn't need to think about them ever again. But the truth is, a lot of things do affect me, and I need to face them and accept that they happened and they are a part of me. They are the reasons why I fear certain sex acts, the reasons why I feel like I have to give up what I want, the reasons why I am almost completely apathetic when someone is talking about their mother. I have triggers and I'm learning to notice them, to realize what sets me off, what pulls me down, and I'm learning to accept that it matters, and that even if someone else tells me it's silly and I should get over it, it still matters and their opinion of my thoughts, emotions and mental stability is irrelevant.

There were bigger, more important things I've had to accept, that other people have had to deal with as well. When Ark and I decided to be polyamorous, it was very difficult at first, but we worked through it and we're a stronger couple now than I could have ever hoped for. It was important for us to hit all this rocky ground and battle against the odds, because as I mentioned in my previous (very old) blog entry, I've more or less come out as lesbian. I learned that this is not always the end of a heterosexual marriage and I'm very, very glad it was not the end of ours. I love, want and need Ark in my life, and the ways we are growing are important to me. The new-old ways we're affectionate are more special to me than sex. Recently, I've been more “out” about my sexuality, though there are still certain family members who don't know, I'm sure a lot of them do. Maybe they don't understand my open hetero marriage and maybe they don't want to. That's okay. They're my family and I want to keep them, but like I said before, I can't keep myself in a little box and never come out.

2. I've needed more time to myself, which actually means...

I needed time away from Gabriel. The intensity of our early relationship is too much for me to handle long-term, and I am having a lot of trouble accepting that. Gabriel is a very intense person, and I can't ask her to change, but as it is, I often feel suffocated under her love for me. I want her to be happy, and I love her and, when I can handle it, I love being around her. When I can't handle it, I feel drained and grouchy. Words of commitment spook me; I have never been able to promise someone “forever.” I can't even begin to explain what a miracle it is that I married Ark. He is a truly amazing and unique person. That said, Gabriel regularly calls me her wife, and says she “married” me, etc, and this makes me very uncomfortable. It makes me want to escape, cut ties—I feel like I will never be able to give her what she wants and needs in a relationship. She needs monogamy. She needs someone who can give her all their time and all their love. I'm not prepared to give that—it isn't in my nature nor is it appealing to me in any way. I thought of a quote today that summed it up; “I may not be everything you could ever want or need, but I'll give you as much as I can.” What else can I give?

I'd really love for her to have friends outside of my social circle, and I'd love for her to find another girlfriend—someone who can be more full-time than me. She deserves that, she deserves happiness, but I cannot continue to give myself to her at sacrifice to my own sanity and well-being.

I've been taking time away—but it really looks like I'm drifting away, even to me. I don't want that. I still want to be a part of Gabriel's life, and I know she wants me to be (a bigger) part of hers. But can she handle only seeing me once a week, maybe once every other week, maybe once a month? Is it even fair to ask that? It may be what I need.

I feel like there's a lot of pressure when I'm in a relationship with someone who's monogamous. I go back and forth between saying I don't have a primary and I do—the truth is, I do have a primary, and that's Ark. My marriage and relationship to him are tantamount to any other relationships I may have. If a lover can't understand that and doesn't respect my marriage, I can't continue that relationship.

3. I've been taking time to myself.

This kinda goes with the previous statement, but it's different, and here's why. I've made friends, and it's wonderful. I finally feel like I'm surrounded with people I love again—my pack, my chosen family. The people I've met are amazing friends. They make me laugh and I so rarely feel alone anymore. I don't even know how to express that this is a huge big deal for me. It's so hard for me to make and maintain friendships (I've lived here for six years and only just recently made friends).

And old friendships are growing, in new and unexpected ways. A friend of Ark's from his old job, someone we usually saw once or twice a month, has turned into The Object of My Affection lately. I am totally addicted and feeling some heavy NRE with this girl. It's so funny, the way it happened, but well, maybe I'll explain that some other time. I don't want to wax puppylove over this girl and I know I will, if allowed. Which brings me to...

4. I've been dating.

Dating! Do you believe it? I don't. I've never been dating before. It's exciting and new and a little scary. I'm trying to get Ark to date, too (he needs a girlfriend who lives nearby). I had my first two dates (kinda) this week, and both were successful. I'm not going to tell you about them because they're private, and I don't have these peoples' permission to talk about them on my blog just yet.

5. Ark has been amazing.

AMAZING. You don't even know. I've had to lean on him a lot. The very, very bad bout of depression I had at the end of 2011 and the beginning of 2012 had to be a trial. He's not reacted adversely to my affections on anyone else—granted, I am very careful not to be overtly affectionate to anyone else where he's watching me. Being around Ark and someone I like still makes me nervous, because he has reacted poorly in the past, but it's becoming clearer and clearer that maybe, just maybe, all of that is in the past, and I'm elated (when I'm not paranoid still).

I said it before but I'll say it again, my husband is awesome and he has grown in so many ways, changed in so many ways, becoming more accepting and curious and loving and happy. It makes me love him even more (is that possible?!).

So, all in all, some stuff has been happening and it's been great. Mostly. I work, I eat, I sleep, I see friends, I see lovers, I try to balance the world with my personal needs. So, I'm not dead yet! Still very much alive and kicking. Apparently, I just needed to go to Panera and sit down and decide to write a blog article.

I'm a Statistic

Forty percent.

That's the number of lesbians who are married to a partner of the opposite sex. Lesbians who are married to men.

I'm in a loving, affectionate, largely platonic heterosexual marriage. I say “largely platonic” because over the past year, our sexual activity has dwindled drastically and is more or less non-existent at this point (it is currently 9 Feb and we've had sex once this year). We love each other, and all of the other affection is there, but we just don't have sex. And I'm kind of okay with that. I jokingly said to someone last year that if Ark and I never had sex again and I never had a penis inside me again, I'd really be just fine with that. I said, I don't think I'll miss it much... if at all.

Maybe that's when I started to worry. But it's certainly not when I first started to see signs.

The first girl I loved was a friend in elementary school. She was beautiful, popular (at least in my eyes), and she was nice to me. Our friendship continued through middle school, even though I'd moved, and into high school, where we rarely saw one another but we'd had a class or two together. I remember when I was in elementary, I had my first (and as it turned out, my only) sleep-over birthday party, and though I'd invited all of my girl friends, she was the only one to attend. She's still my friend on social networking sites, and I will never, ever tell her I love her.

Even at a young age, I never really understood when my girl friends would say “Oh, he's so cute!” I'd look over at the boy in question and think, okay, this is what cute is. Maybe I thought I was just slow on the hormones (even though I started my period young, at the age of ten) and I would eventually think boys were cute and want a boyfriend as bad as all the other girls did. Even when I did eventually get a boyfriend, he was very feminine (he's quite gay now), and we started dating as kind of a “we've been friends” and he'd already dated literally everyone else in our class. I never sought out male companionship; I just fell into relationships with male friends, and even after break-ups, remained as good friends as I could with them. I genuinely cared about them and I suppose I always knew something was missing from my relationship with them, I just didn't know what.

In high school, I had a crush on a female transfer student. I came out as bisexual verbally to my sister first, then, and explained I was nervous and that I wanted to wear something to impress her. She suggested I talk to Mom about it, and I did... boy, was I terrified. Though Mom had always preached that she didn't care “what” we brought home “as long as they make you happy,” I was still afraid. What girl wouldn't be?

But my mom, bless every ounce of her soul, reacted in a TOTALLY unexpected way. She was ecstatic. She was so happy. She told me even she had some girlfriends over the years but she was afraid of what my sister and I would think. (Well, Mom, I wouldn't have given two shits and I bet my sister wouldn't have, either.)

After that, I breathed a little easier. My crush was straight and had a boyfriend back home, so my efforts to impress her were futile, but I tried anyway. (I still have a thing for accents from a certain country.)

I was never really enamoured with penises.

Let's just leave it at that.

That's not to say that I don't enjoy sex with Ark; I do, and though it just about never happens anymore, I told him tonight that I hope our sexual relationship is not over. I enjoy the closeness, and I genuinely do enjoy getting him off. I don't know why it's easier or more appealing for me to have sex with Ark than with any other man (the idea of it is repulsive, honestly). I explained to him, “I just like all the other stuff in the relationship more.”

Is it possible to be a lesbian and be married to a man?

Is it possible to have a working platonic relationship with your husband?

I should rephrase that. Is it possible for me to have a working, mostly platonic relationship with my husband? Yes, yes I think it is.

This brings me to a new problem: Will most lesbians, and the amazing lesbian/queer community here where I live, accept me as I am?

Probably not.

It is very hard for a marginalized person like me to get into the very cliquey and judgmental groups they live in.

Wait a minute, I just read that sentence over again. Did you? Cause if you see the same thing I see, you just might laugh out loud. If they're cliquey and judgmental, why do I want to be "accepted" by them? Is it because I want the kinship? I am certainly not judgmental—I accept people as they are. I'm often shocked by how racist, sexist and hateful queers can be. We are already the “Other.” We are all linked—we have common ground—in that we love differently. If the community as a whole (I'm not speaking for individuals, as I do have some lesbian friends who are just fine with my situation) shuns me because of the way I live and the way I love, I guess I should just let it go and not worry about it.

Ark and I are doing great. We're treading carefully, but the playfulness, the joy, the laughter, has returned. I'm happier... and so is he, if I may be so bold as to say so. So what if other people look at our relationship, as it is, and think it can't be done? So what if they look at us and think we're crazy? We're doing it. And damn it, we might be crazy, but we're also lovin' it.