The end of the journey! Read from the beginning here. (5/5.)
I created this blog under the title “A Lesbian and Her Laptop” even when I wasn’t very comfortable with the label. This blog was the only place I used it. I chose the title for the wrong reasons (because of the L alliteration), but I think I knew then that it felt the most right, even when I wasn’t ready for it.
Between queer and lesbian, I finally, finally, knew that falling in love with a cis man or being attracted to one was something that wouldn’t happen. Even still, I clung to those last two male attractions from 2012, feeling like those two moments of (questionable) attraction excluded me from a lesbian label. I wasn’t scared of excluding men with my lesbian label, and honestly, I never was.
I was only afraid that my love would be uncontrollable. That I might fall for a boy at some point in the future and would have to go back on my words. The fear of lesbian came from being wrong about myself. I didn’t want to face the judgement for being a lesbian if I wasn’t absolutely sure of it. As expected, I still haven’t fallen for a boy, and for that, I ended up being wrong about myself anyway.
The exact fear of not wanting to limit myself is precisely what kept me limited. I stunted my own personal growth and identity journey because of this fear of being unsure. Multi-gender inclusive labels like bisexual, pansexual, and queer have large communities who fit in their labels comfortably because they experience and express attraction as the label suggests. Well, lesbian is the same exact way.
I, a lesbian, will not label myself as bisexual (or any other multi-gender labels) because the way I experience attraction does not align with that label. I will not use bisexual to “keep my options open,” and doing so in the past only restrained me from embracing who I really am. It stopped me from loving the whole me, the real me. Pink at my core and filled with raw love.
No, my “lesbian” is not trans/nonbinary exclusive. No, my “lesbian” does not mean I literally hate all men. No, my “lesbian” does not mean I stopped shaving my armpits or shed every facet of womanhood that society developed for us.
Lesbian squeezes at my heart and skips every few beats.
Lesbian glistens on my skin in the bedroom and dances across my parted lips.
Lesbian flips my stomach into somersaults when feelings sink deep.
Lesbian lights my smoke signal and stretches hands across every ocean.
Lesbian is swallowed with every bite, inhaled with every breath.
My lesbian is mine; it is exactly me.