Before: The Coming Out Trilogy – “I Dig Chicks”
Star Wars takes a turn down the gay side.
There are times, I admit, when I look back at this time – the time before I came out – and wonder how I coped. If I could step back to that time, what would I say to myself? That it gets better? That things are going to be OK?
Would I believe myself?
I was a fairly miserable creature back then.
I had chronic depression. I was adept at self harm, destroying any opportunities, and saw no hope, no future, and no point in any area of my life.
I want to be clear though, that all of this wasn’t due to any one person. I have the chemical depression – not the reactive. No one was to blame for my headspace, and now, I can include me in that exemption.
I was living at home, with my Dad and brother. My sister had moved out and my mum had died – unexpectedly, suddenly, and shockingly.
I had finished uni, graduating with a Masters degree at age 22. This sounds impressive until I confess that my practical periods in the classroom scared the bajebus out of me, and I was petrified of having to teach. Not deal with kids, not working – but the education system in Australia. Every minute of every day in the classroom felt more and more like a waste of time. The education system had these kids classified, tarred and feathered from the moment they set foot into a classroom – and it felt like nothing I did or said or taught would change that. Because I felt this way, I did not want to teach. Because I did not want to teach, the obvious solution seemed to be delaying it. And so, I continued studying and completed my Masters.
I was excellent, on paper.
Inside, I was a mess.
As a Christian, I prayed. Oh, I prayed. I prayed that I would get hit by a truck on my way to school. I filled every available minute with church and learning about the Bible and God. I built firm friendships, met beautiful, godly people and knew that I would have each of them as intrinsic parts of my life forever.
In 2006, a lifeline was offered: the opportunity to move to Newcastle.
It seemed ideal: a chance for a fresh start, a chance to get away from an abusive relationship with a toxic man, a chance to try to get my life on track without these issues in the way.
The issues came with me.
And so, I dealt with them. I fought, hard. I slept, knowing I had the prayers of my friends in Sydney behind me. I survived because of the support of others.
Time ticked on, and everything started to level out. I made sure I found the money to make regular trips to Sydney to visit friends and family. But there was still something wrong. I met men who were nice. Dated them. Refused to commit. I was proposed to. I dodged answering. I kept trying to have that perfect life. But still, that something wouldn’t leave me alone.
By this stage, I’d given up going to church. I stayed in close contact with my friends. I was social, I threw myself into music and writing and life.
Then in 2010, I met a remarkable woman. She was like my long lost thought-twin, a kindred spirit that I know not many people are lucky enough to have. She and I have remarkable similarities (recently we discovered we use the same standard password, with the difference being our birth years). The stark difference was that she was in a relationship with a woman.
This lesbian thing was something I had thought about a lot. Was I gay? Could I possibly be gay? I had never wanted to have kids. I had never wanted to be married. I functioned much better in one night stands than I did in relationships. And so, with the guidance of my therapist and a couple of (new) friends, I explored the possibility.
I tried it on for size: I’m gay. I’m a lesbian. I dig chicks.
Could it be?
The more I contemplated it, the more at ease I began to feel. The more I reflected on my life, the more obvious it seemed. I had one last attempt with the fellow who proposed. The same lack of emotional connection was still there. I met another man, and I was upfront, explaining where I was at. We went on a couple of dates, but it quickly dissolved.
Could it be that I had just never met the right man? I really don’t believe so.
I’m not a dumb girl. I’m educated, I’ve sought out understanding in many areas of my life. I’ve pursued God and academia and friendships and life. I had tried every avenue to make me want to live my life. I had tried to live my life according to whatever rule book I could find.
Except my own rule book.
And in my pursuing of all these things, I neglected to address a growing discomfort that was desperate to be made known:
I dig chicks.
I dig chicks.
I dig chicks.