I just married my best friend. We ran away to Vegas a month ago, and said “I do” in the Lucky Little Chapel wearing whatever we had thrown into our bags, and toting our 1/2 pound chihuahua along. Two months ago, I had no idea we would be together, let alone married.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve found women attractive. From middle school crushes on my friends, to Mormon summer camp where I first fell for a woman, drunken high school make outs, and then on to serious dating. I dated quite a few women, and I never attempted to hide it from anyone. But people discredited me. How could I be a lesbian if I was girly, and liked flirting with pretty much anyone who gave me attention? I never truly felt complete with any of the men I dared. I went into my early twenties having a child with a man whom I wasn’t in love with, and then left him for a woman.
For the first time in my life I felt totally sexually satisfied. It was like someone had finally shown me how to use the windshield wipers on my car, and I was doing 95 miles per hour down the freeway, and living. Really living. I suddenly felt like I was apart of something. People were so welcoming to me, in social settings I had always long to be in. I felt like I found myself. But the high of it all began to be overshadowed by the unhealthiness of the relationship I was in.
Right as things started to spiral down, I met my husband. Well, actually had I met him years prior when he had come in and gotten a haircut as a 16 year old high school student. But now, 3 years later, he was different. We started hanging out, and I would say things like “I’ll never love you. I’m gay.” I’ll never forget the way he laughed and said “only one part of that sentence is true, and it’s not the part about you never loving me.”
He was right. I fell head over heels in love with him. Words could never describe how much this human being completed me. To me, this meant that I had to hide my “gayness” and succumb to the fact that I had been turned straight. It worked, for a while. I ignored my brain, and kept myself mentally isolated.
But the cracks began to show. I found myself crying at night, seeing other lesbian couples out gave me rage filled jealousy. I snapped. I packed everything up, and I told him I was gay, and I couldn’t be with him anymore.
The next few weeks were the hardest of my life, so far. I felt that maybe if I ceremoniously “came out” it would heal how broken my heart was, and push me to get out there, and find the female version of the person I was in love with.
So, I posted a tell all blog about how much of a lesbian I was, and how I wouldn’t ever date men again. The response was overwhelmingly the supportive, but what no one knew is that I was sitting on the beach on Valentine’s Day, hysterically sobbing my eyes out, begging, pleading, for him to “turn me straight.”
I began to hate myself, and wish I could go back to that time where my life was clouded by a simpler confusion. And then it dawned on me: I’m in love with the most amazing person I’ve ever met, but I’m letting his gender stop me from fully letting me embrace it.
My husband has never once asked me to be “straight.” Never has he discredited my sexual identity, made me feel a fool, or held any resentment towards me for the way I took my Journey. He supported me, and still does.
So, we ran off to Vegas and got married. We’ve never been stronger as a couple, or as individuals, and I couldn’t have asked for a better human to accompany me for the rest of my life.