I’m in a pub in Berlin. We’re right at the back, on a little two-seater table near an old brick fireplace.
My then-boyfriend sits across from me, sipping whisky and coke. The bar is full, and loud, and doused in the yellow of candlelight.
I consider my words. Am I doing this now?
‘I don’t think that I’m entirely straight.’
The way I said it made it sound as if I was unsure, but the opposite was true. It had first dawned on me two years previous, when I set eyes on a girl and promptly developed what could only be described as a crush. Nervous when I saw her, butterflies in the stomach, overthinking my words - that kind of crush. Her holding hands with her girlfriend gave me pangs of jealousy. I looked her up on Facebook. Looking back, I’d had similar (but milder) feelings about girls before, but not quite like this.
Other things started happening. I started following anyone that I’d noticed was bisexual on Twitter. I obsessively watched videos about bisexuality from my favourite Youtubers. At first, I didn’t think it could be true. Wasn’t I just taking an interest in LGBTQ+ content?
I’ve always had trouble embracing my sexuality, even before I realised it included queerness. I’m fat now, and have always been in a bigger body than those around me. I used to - in fact, still do - find it impossible to believe that anybody could actually be attracted to me, or desire me. I feel a lot of desire, but I don’t show it a lot of the time. It’s like I don’t think I have the right to express it. I do not feel safe in doing so - like I will be mocked, or judged, and that I will never, ever be taken seriously.
Then-boyfriend didn’t do any of those things. Well, not that I could tell. He asked me to elaborate - when did I realise this? How did I feel about it? It was the closest I’d felt to him in a long time; like I had actually expressed who I am to someone, even if it was just one person.
Our relationship ended just a few months after that trip. No part of me thinks it was related to my coming out to him - only in that doing so caused me to start examining my life a little more closely, and feeling a little bit braver about letting go of things that weren’t right for me any more.
I told my oldest friend over lunch, when I needed her advice about the breakup. I told another close friend when I moved into her spare room, and she found a Pride t-shirt I’d bought (but never worn) in an effort to make me feel like my bisexuality was legitimate.
I told a friend in Manchester in an extremely passive way, dropping into conversation that I’d been on a date with a girl but never coming out explicitly. I hoped that was a cooler, less ‘I-have-something-to-tell-you’ kind of way to tell her; a method of minimising what was actually a massive thing for me to let slip.
I told someone (now a friend) the first time I met them, because they are a lesbian and I wanted to feel kinship - I wanted to let them know, I’m not what you think.
I told my cousin over Facebook message only a few weeks ago, years after that night in Berlin. He had just told me he was gay, and I felt so relieved, so seen, to know there was someone else in my family that felt similarly to me.
I’m telling you, now. I’m not straight at all. I’m bisexual - and whilst I still haven’t got round to wearing that t-shirt, I’m finally starting to feel proud of it.
Recommended:
Ruby Tandoh is an angel, and her Good Food Things is a much needed source of comfort these days.
I gave up on dating apps a long while ago. This piece is a beauty from Annie Lord about how, since lockdown, she has too.
Another glorious interview with Hayley Williams.
I gave up two days of lockdown this week to watch Netflix’s new dating show Too Hot To Handle. This piece from VICE perfectly explains its appeal. Hot people are such a mystery to me.
Written by me:
My latest Fatness in Film column for Flip Screen was all about Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and how fatphobia still shows up in supposedly ‘woke’ and liberal spaces. Really happy with this one - give it a read.