Go back five years and you wouldn’t recognise me. I was drowning in despair, convinced I was going to be alone forever. Always berating myself for not being thinner, smarter, prettier, funnier, fitter, healthier … more normal. Or at least what I considered normal. I wanted to not have a broken brain, to not hate myself, to feel like I was worthy of the friends who loved me for who I was.
It started with an innocent comment but my friend’s response made it clear it wasn’t the sort of thing you were supposed to say. The way she reacted you would have thought I’d said something really shocking; as she quickly dismissed my comment, reiterated that I “have a boyfriend”, and told me because I liked sex with men I couldn’t possibly be a lesbian. The real kicker was when she said “I know lesbians, they are horrified by the idea of touching a penis, that’s definitely not you.”