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Thursday, September 30, 2010

Wednesday, September 29, 2010


I have barely stopped crying all day.
My eyes hurt.
My jaw hurts from the yawning due to lack of breathing.
My body is exhausted.
I feel numb.

I had a job interview today, I got to anxious that I couldn't go in.

I went to training, skated for 15 minutes and came home, I just couldn't be there.

Do you ever have those times when you are driving along and you think to yourself, maybe I could just drive off the road? It would be quick, at this speed anyway...

Sunday, September 26, 2010


So these pictures are being sent to zoo magazine for the 'beg4cash' competition. I know I know, trashy mens mag, shameless ass pictures....whatever. I need money. If I have to sell my soul (and a photo of my ass) to get it, so be it.

My plea is to get me to Brisbane. I noted my current lack of employment, the fact that I want to don fishnets and smack girls around...they asked for some photos to back up my story.

These are it.

Nothing affiliated to my league. I'm selling MY soul, not everyone elses. Don't judge.

As a side note; I found some stunning hard covered books at the market today. $3 each... I could only afford Dracula, Frankenstein and Lady Chatterley's Lover. They will look lovely in my collection.


*apologies for the incoherence and babbling of this, I wrote this at 3am, and I fear my intelligence is slipping away from me.

**this is not a coming out story as such...more like the experience I have had coming to terms with my sexuality...I felt the need to write this to help myself understand...myself. By the end of my writing, I feel I have delved into myself, found snippets of childhood I'd forgotten, analyzed my life, and can now be comfortable knowing that I am not just delving head on into the lesbian lifestyle because 'that's what I do'...but because this is who I am.

Growing up I was completely oblivious to the existance of same-sex relationships. I was living in the cliche world of 'mum, dad, child and a dog'. Straight couples were 'it'. Golly, I barely even knew what 'single parent' was, let alone 'gay'. Only when during primary school I started running into things and exclaiming 'poof' as I connected with my target did my Dad explain what a 'poof' actually was. Less than two years later, my parents separated and my eyes were opened. My parents separated, and within months my Dad moved in with a man, started listening to Cher and Kylie, donned rainbow flags and went to Mardi Gras. It blew my mind. I felt like knowing what rainbow stickers on cars meant, that I was in on a little secret.
I didn't really tell any schoolmates back then, to both parents suggestion. They both knew how cruel kids are, and I was the subject of bullying enough as it was. The few who found out ridiculed, asked questions I couldn't answer and simply created so much more confusion than I could handle at that age.
To this day, I mention that my Dad is gay, I get asked a ridiculous question, generally answered with 'immaculate conception'.
Back then, my Dads orientation was never explained to me. I was left to guess, assume. I was still barely sure what 'gay' was, I just knew that it was something that people didn't agree with, it wasn't 'normal'.

My first lesbian encounter was way back in grade two. My parents were still together, though not for much longer. My best friend at the time stayed over for my birthday. She was obsessed with being grown up. So whilst in bed, we played 'big kids'. We pretended to be grown up, boyfriend and girlfriend. We were in school, and our teacher was letting us sit at the back of the class to kiss, because we were the favourites. We kissed, we touched the area where our breasts were yet to develop. We explored eachothers nether-regions. The whole time, I was shaking. Terrified that what we were doing was wrong, that my parents would come downstairs and yell at us. Again, back then, I still had no idea about this concept of 'queer' or 'lesbian', I just knew that what we were doing was not 'normal', and thus, bad.

Throughout primary school and the start of high school I was infatuated with boys. KB4?? was written everywhere. I had lists of the boys I loved so deeply. I crushed on one particular boy for years, it was obsurd. Interestingly, almost every boy I ever adored was out of reach, so to speak. Always too cool for me (or in Tom Feltons case, too famous and too much in England...). In primary school I was often heartbroken when the boys didn't want to kiss me in kiss chasey. My first boyfriend lasted two weeks in year seven. We held hands and hugged in front of everyone watching us.
In year seven, I touched myself for the first time. I'd stumbled upon my stepdads porn magazines. I never though anything of it at the time obviusly, but looking back, I seemed to pay far more attention to the women. Their breats, the stories of their escapades.
My first 'serious' boyfriend (though at 13, how serious is serious?) lasted for three years. We never got further than him touching my boobs (To this day, I am convinced he is gay, and will come out in his 30's sometime). I think, because of my having a boyfriend, my crushes on my friends didn't matter. I guess it didn't even cross my mind that my feelings were stronger than normal.

It wasn't until year nine that I first considered my feelings might be something more than just friendly. I discovered myself fantasizing about Angelina Jolie, I stalked youth forums asking questions such as 'How do I know if I'm gay/bi?' The answers were obviously no help, explaining that 'you just know'. My plight was not helped by the torments aimed at girls who even thought about not being interested in boys. When I blew up at a kid for implying I kissed another girl in the toilets, the school counsellor actually asked if I was gay, of course, I didn't know what to think. My Dad was going through a bitter time with his family, disowning him for being gay. When I expressed my confusion of his parents obsurd actions to my Mum, she admitted that she would be very disappointed if I was to come out as gay. She had hopes for a wedding and grandbabies for her only child. Once, I admitted to a friend that I thought I had a crush on my legal studies teacher, Miss V, she had the typical small-town reaction of 'pretend I didn't hear'. In the end, I decided that I was just overly needy, just a jealous person, my strong feelings and my sexual urges were not gay, just misplaced affection.

When I changed schools for year eleven, I started going out to parties. I had never been interested before (the people I went to school with had been douchebags). I kissed a few girls over time, purely for the thrill. I lost my virginity that year, at 16 to my 19 year old neighbour who I was infatuated with. He broke my heart, as many people do when they take part in such a big event. After which, I was becoming close to my friend T. I confided in her that I thought I might be bisexual, I was finally coming to terms with the fact that I was attracted to girls, and when my lips touched theirs, there was something more than just alcohol. She invited me to minus 18. I had a huge crush on T, there was never any reciprocation though. I was deflated at the lack of attention from her, so I gave in to 'normality'.

I was still rebounding from my neighbour and T when I got with my ex. We became friends easily after I crashed his hangout with the guys at school. I divulged my secret affection for girls, he admitted he willingly went to an Avril Lavigne concert. We sometimes fought over my not being allowed to play with girls (but most boyfriends LIKE that....it's not fun if you WANT it...fair call). We ended up being together for nearly 4 years, and are still friends now. By the end of the relationship, we were both questioning ourselves. We were simply 'settling', we had lost our passion, as to be expected in a serious relationship so young. I sometimes wonder if my being 'an only' made me need him, rather than love him, as I am admittedly quite needy. I looked through some blogs from back then, and I can see that I was deliriously in love. When we broke up, I was a mess.

When I was freshly single, I had a couple of one night stands (most proving to be more trouble than they're worth). I found strength in my best friend. She was amazing. Creating 'International Cheer Scar Up Day'. Unfortunately though, I fell for her. She is pretty amazing. Somehow we seduced eachother (come on, she spoke to me in french, HOT!). We were near inseperable until she admitted one night in a very roundabout way that she had kind of always known she was gay, she just couldn't admit it to herself. She was sorry for confusing me, she didn't want to be the one to 'corrupt' me. Oh, she also has a crush on someone else. Once again, I was left shattered, not good enough, again.

When I organised the roller derby contingent of this years Pride March, I was still confused. I was hurting deeply over my best friends leaving me hanging, while she was happy and having all these experiences (the same ones I had dreamed of having with her) with her new girlfriend (I had asked them to be considerate around me, but, well, dykes seem to be whores who can't help but kiss and tell ;) ). Why was I organising this event? Was it to show my friend that she was not the one to corrupt me, I was serious about this, and they couldn't ruin my happiness? Was it to fit in with the girls I had crushes on from other leagues? There is a scene from Greys Anatomy where Dr Hahn has sex with a woman for the first time.
My whole life... My whole adult life, I have been with men. And it always felt, you know, fine, good, but... I never... I mean -- I mean, I did, but not... Not like this. This is like needing glasses.
- Uhm, I've blinded you?
- No. When I was a kid, I would get these headaches, and I went to the doctor, and they said that I needed glasses. I didn't understand that. It didn't make sense to me because I could see fine. And then I get the glasses, and I put them on, and I'm in the car on the way home, and suddenly I yell... Because the big green blobs that I had been staring at my whole life, they weren't big green blobs. They were leaves on trees. I could see the leaves. And I didn't even know I was missing the leaves. I didn't even know that leaves existed, and then... Leaves! You... are glasses. I am so gay. I am so, so, so gay! I am extremely gay!
It's so true. This is precisely what happened to me. I have no doubt that I loved my ex with all of my heart. But the first time I slept with a girl, the first time I felt a womans body pressed against mine, it, it blew my mind. Butterflies, fireworks, the whole kit and kaboodle. The weekend of Pride March, I managed to bed my girlfriend for the first time. If I thought there were fireworks with any woman, this was just an atomic bomb exploding in the sky. I knew, right then, that this was what my life was meant to be.

During highschool we were given open essays to write, argumentative essays on our topic of choice. I tended to campaign against homophobia. To this day I don't know whether I was trying to support my Dad in my own way (not that I ever showed him these essays), or whether I was subconsciously defending myself against the hypocrisy and ludicrous ideas embedded within society.
When I first came out at the start of this year, I broke the news to my loved ones in the form of bisexuality. As I was new to the idea of being in a relationship, I suggested that I was not necessarily 'giving up' on males. I just was in a relationship with a female at this point in time. In reality, even though I am likely to judge a person on their personality, not their gender, I am coming to realise that I am becoming less and less attracted to males. I can appreciate the good looking, but the idea of going to bed with a guy makes me cringe now. The lack of breast, the coarser skin, the obnoxious bulge...the scratchy facial hair...no thankyou. I believe that I may very well be gay. Not bi. Gay. Lesbian. Dyke. Carpet muncher. Muff Diver. Whatever you want to call it. I have realised my affection for boobs. I have found my love of...lady parts... and now, at 22, I am embracing my sexuality for what I am.

A flaming queer.