When I Fell In Love

but I was confused.

"My sexuality is not an inferior trait that needs to be chaperoned by emotionalism or morality." 
― Alice Bag

Knowing that might have saved me a lot of time and confusion.

My last love caused a shipwreck of my heart. Even now, I still find pieces of driftwood floating past me, reminding me how violent and destructive his waves had been.

But, much like the sea, even though he destroyed, he created and unmasked - washing back the debris and unearthing whole systems underneath. I had a new view of the world. Before him, it was like I had walked around with one eye shut, and with both now open, the world was something entirely different.

The new view was disconcerting to say the least. Initially, I wasn't sure what to make of it. The thick, athletic, sculpted legs that I had once admired and lusted for on my last love now evoked the same feelings on someone new.

She was my best friend.

My last love, it seemed, had awoken a part of me that hadn't been so much dormant as it was unfed. This part of me had always existed, but I had never had quite the words for it. I had never had the rationale. I had never had the courage to look it in the eye.

I still didn't. This part reared its head when she walked her way into our classes and sat next to me. It wept when she skipped us along, hand in hand to whatever destination she chose, only to let go too soon. It roared an Earth shattering roar when it saw her tears and her pain and felt the shakes that tumbled through her when the emotions became too much.

And it scared me.

It was easy to deal with sexuality when it wasn't your own. It was easy to accept and love when it was your own love to give, but my love was not what I was searching for. And, the love I did want would not be received if I faced that part of me.

It would not be received by the traditional Catholicism of my family and closest confidants. It would not be recieved by my conservative friends, the very same ones who had shunned my last love when he timidly spoke up until his own voice was silenced and he was allowed to rejoin the pack. It would not be received by my best friend - the one with the bright smile and shining eyes, whose constellations made me smile instead of cringe for the first time in far too long.

I didn't know how to act. Was I being too much of one part and not of the other? Was I overcompensating? Could other people tell that I was overcompensating? Every touch, every word, every expression with her was one that I second guessed, unsure if it was coming out too much of that part.

And so, I quieted that part of me, similarly to the way my last love had. I pretended it didn't exist. Confusion and Silence continued to be my biggest and baddest opponents, taking me to the ring over and over again to ensure I wouldn't forget who was in charge.

A life of living only half of what you are isn't what is exhausting. A life of suppressing half of you is the part that drains the life that's left and turns you dull, paranoid, anxious, sad, discreet, unfulfilled.

Tired.

That's where she left me - tired and half of who I was - all without knowing any better.

That was the worst part.