When I came out as bisexual, I learned that I needed to fight for myself and what I knew was right. The first to know was my dad. He accepted me with open arms, and gave me courage to tell the rest of my family. My siblings reacted the same way. I knew that they would, because as a family we support the LGBTQ+ community. So I guess I wasn’t scared to tell my family, but it was still big news that mattered to me, and I didn’t want the way they saw me to change. The next thing to do was tell my friends and I started small, someone who I was sure would accept me the same way.

My heart was beating fast, I could feel blood rushing to my face. I was nervous, and I wondered if my friend could see this. We’ll call them Sam. I explained to Sam that I had big news, and that I wanted them to know because it was a big deal to me. Sam nodded their head, my cue to go on. That’s when I told them. Sam was silent at first, which I didn’t think anything of, since it might have been a little surprising to them. But then they said that I was lying. I was shocked, and utterly hurt. I couldn’t believe they had just said that. I told them they were wrong and Sam asked me to prove it.

“First of all,” I said to them, anger lacing my voice, “how do you expect me to prove that? Second, I shouldn’t have to prove my sexuality to you.”
They shrugged off my discomfort, and prodded me with more questions.
“Who do you prefer?”
“Do you think [so-and-so] is attractive?”

Worse, they asked even more personal questions. I was baffled. I was hurt. I wanted to yell at them and I wanted to take back everything I confided in them. I originally thought that telling people would make me feel better, but I was wrong.

The good thing is, Sam eventually realized that I was telling the truth and stopped the intrusive questioning. The whole interaction was stained in my brain like ink, slowly spreading everywhere and impossible to clean. I didn’t know what to do, so I was forced back into that little shell of safety where I pretended that I wasn’t different from my friends or my family. I didn’t want the attention and I certainly didn’t want someone else to accuse me of lying for attention. So I stayed quiet.

For a month, I was only my truest self when I was at home. I was still myself with friends, but they didn’t even know about a vital part of me. Eventually, I started to get over Sam’s reaction. I began to accept that not everyone in the world would make it easy for me. Yet, I wished that America was a more accepting place. America lives by the saying “Land of the Free,” which I’ve discovered is not very true at all. We’ve come so far in American History, from abolishing slavery, to giving women the right to vote, just to let people take away our rights again? To let people be hated and hurt for who they are and who they choose to love?

I’ve learned from my experiences since then, to not care what people have to say, because I know they're wrong. If I let them take away my individuality, then am I just as bad as they are? My diversity should be celebrated. I have to fight for what’s right, what I believe in and know should be granted to me. I came out to the rest of my friends and I wasn’t as scared as before. This is who I am and if people have a problem, then so be it. I won’t silence myself for somebody else.

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