I didn't want to tell

but the words just left

"I'm bisexual."

there was time for a breath

before being told

I'm full of shit

my parents aren't sold

that bisexuality even exists

they live in black and white

where people are only straight or gay

a spectum is not in their sight

and they don't care what I say

my mom cried for someone to arrest me

that I should be in jail for very long

screaming about hoping a woman in prison would rape me

so that I could see how I was wrong

I cried and cried

knees pressed to my chest

regreting stopping the lies

panic making my heart race under my left breast

I tried to cut myself after they left the room

and cried till there was no more tears to shed

weeks pasted and tense fear still seemed to loom

their words still echo in my head

I'm open about my bisexuality

to my accepting friends and peers

but I regret coming out to my family

as what happened I told you here

I'm not saying to hide who you are

just know who you tell

and that you can trust them with your heart

so you don't have to go through hell

some people are lucky

and when they first come out

their experience isn't as rocky

and people have no doubt

this safe and close community

we can all trust eachother

be proud of our sexualities

and love one another

#bisexuality

Coming out of the closet has become synonymous with the LGBTQ community, and I do not, with this post, wish to diminish the fight the members of that group are waging to be accepted in our society. “Coming out,” though, can be equally applied to anyone who suffers from mental illness. Why? Stigma.

For many people, the term “mental illness” evokes images of raving lunatics, mass murderers, and patients abandoned and drooling in inhumane asylums. Popular culture has reinforced those ideas with movies like “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” and “12 Monkeys,” and tales of horrendous procedures like frontal lobotomies. Most mental illness, though, is an inner war caused by genetic and physiological factors over which the person has no control. However, they can be treated like any other disease. Unfortunately, stigma is usually stronger than reality, and the more people buy into it, the less likely the mentally ill are going to try to “come out” and seek the help they need.

Though I am on the inside looking out, I, too, have bought into the stigma for most of my life. I felt like damaged goods. I thought that if anyone knew what lurked inside, they would deem me crazy and lock me up. This idea must be challenged. In order to treat the problem, we must first be willing to admit there is one. “Coming out” is extremely hard to do, but it is a necessary step toward reclaiming our otherwise lost lives.

#closet #challenge #stigma

my hands are shaking

stepping forward, I look my mother in the eye

we're both about to cry

and she's shaking

shaking me

screaming how could you do this to me

you're the only daughter I've got

and I'm shaking

shaking with fear

fear of my mother

I knew what to do

but I couldn't leave my little brother

and he's shaking

he's shaking

trying to make me wake up

as blood flows from my wrist

all because my mother hates who I kiss

and the world is shaking

and shaking

and I'm seizing

my brother is screaming

the doctors running, trying to save me

but it's too late

and he's shaking

he's shaking

the doctor, he's shaking his head

I'm looking from above now

I flatlined

I can finally give my father a hug now

no longer shaking

Informally out and in the spotlight, apparently family prefers looking back into the dark I've left. An anti-moth, she fears the light; the love; the truth. That Z is mine, and I theirs; that they have taken me and loved me in a way a mother could not. To admit their love surpassing blood would be to admit to her failure, though, and do that - never.

Back when I was in 8th grade, I realised I had some interest in girls. Bi? Pan? Les? I had no idea, but I knew it was something. My mom had this "every time we move, she's straightened a little" kind of mindset, so we moved back to the city neighboring city of where I grew up in right before my freshman year of high school (as I'm writing this, I'm in my junior year). My freshman year, I was at a new school with new people. I only knew two people--one I had a class with--from where I grew up. So, with crippling anxety, I had to make new ones. At this point, I had jumped the gun and proclaimed myself as lesbian (I was wrong, FYI), and that's how I associated myself. Now there was this hella cute girl in my little "clique" who happened to be bi, and I asked her out. I didn't want to go through the fear of telling my mom again that I liked a girl, nonetheless, dating one. My mom suspected it, though, because I talked about her more than I thought, and I was really upset when I found out she was moving. My mom sat me in the living room.

"You kissing girls?"

"No, mother."

"The dog?"

About this time, my dog jumped in my lap, licking my face.

"You'd be happier to know it was the dog rather than what you don't know."

And that's how I came out.

it can be extremely scary to come out of the closet. theres that fear of not being accepted, fear of rejcetion, fear that someone will tell you that its "Just a phase" or fear that someone will think you have a mental illness. There's a lot that could go wrong, conversion therapy being leagal in some pleaces makes that worse. no one wants to be placed in conversion therapy. Anything could go wrong in the coming out process, I know it still sucks that my mom still doesnt accept me for who I am. People are being told who to love and you cant change that about a person. It's the most terifying thing to come out of the closet, and its not a one time thing which is even scarier thinking you might have to come out again to someone else and get that rush of fear of acceptance, rejectance, hatrid, so much.

I blush when she says I’m gay.

And she freezes because that’s not the routine of the joke.

There’s blood in my cheeks and my hands and my vision and I laugh.

And she asks me again—

not kidding.

And I see it all.

God’s face staring down after years in a Baptist church. Mom saying she never took us to the services enough. Mammaw telling me she’d have a heart attack, Grandma mentioning that poor waiter.

Words are power; but feelings are just unfinished thoughts. I shouldn’t make concrete out of questions, so I laugh again.

The laugh is not the 17 year old laugh she knows.

She knows.

The fear

The undeniable fear

The lingering ever present fear

The shouldn’t be there fear

It’s okay but still the fear

Living in constant fear

The I’ll lose everyone fear

The I’ll lose everything fear

The burning my eyes in the light fear

The maybe I like it dark fear

The closing in fear

The wide open fear

The empty fear

The I don’t want live fear

It’s too overwhelming in the fear

But it seems like all I have is the fear

(all names are changed)

My parents sat around me, trying to figure out why I had broken up with my boyfriend that morning.

I had broken up with him for a lot of reasons: he ignored me, we had nothing in common, we hadn't spoken in two weeks, and I didn't even have feelings for him in the first place, but the main reason was that both of us had found someone else; he had found his friend Ava, and I had found my friend Elle.

I hadn't known I was interested in girls until a few weeks prior when it hit me that I had feelings for her, but now that I did I couldn't, in good conscience, keep myself in a failing relationship.

I had spent the last several weeks feeling like I was about to be sick; feeling like I was a sort of fraud, as though I was a liar who didn't deserve to be around everyone else. I had told a few people and the feeling seemed to evaporate when I was around them.

It hit me that I had to come out as quickly as possible before this feeling destroyed me.

My parents figured it out; they were remarkably supportive and have been ever since.

Comming out of the closet is a relief if you are comming out to people who are supportive of you. They will treat you well and you can look yourself in the mirror and say "I am a lesbian".

Coming out of the closet can be used in such a different way thean the stereotypical saying. Here's what I imagine. Before coming out of the closet, one is used to the state of, well, a closet. It's dark,cluttered, and clothes are halfway off of the slippery plastic hangers, held up only by the other large amounts of clothes pressed against it. The broken lightbulb that prevents you from seeing the variety of outfits there is to choose from, is the only part of the closet protecting you from the anxiety of what the inside of the closet actually looks like. The unhappiness in hiding who you are. No matter who you are, everyone has a closet they have been hiding in, and everyone has a closet that they eventually get the courage to come out of. Think about it. It is the go-to hide and seek spot for EVERYONE as a kid. Try and tell me you havent hid in a closet at somepoint in your childhood, literally. It's the easiest way to win the game. I know from experience. You're able to hide behind your clothes, shoes, boxes, and that broken lightbulb, blocking anyone from seeing where you are. It takes true courage to leave the comfort of your own stuff, and walk out into a world where people judge, hate, and don't understand what the inside of your closet looks like. Coming out of the closet is learning to be comfortable with the person you really are.