The year is 1997. The place is Buckhannon, West Virginia. The person is me. I've come out as bisexual.
SPOILER: It does not go well.
This is the part where I get tongue-tied, where I don't know how to proceed. Where my mind screams, I'M FUNNY, I HAVE TO BE FUNNY. This is the part where I don't mention the boys who lined up along the hallway to spit on me as I walked to class. I don't mention anything about the person who shot out my porchlight one light. I don't talk about the people who threw bottles and bricks at me as I walked down the street. I don't mention my mother telling me not to talk about it, that I should keep it secret, that if I were to live with a woman one day, I should tell people she's my sister.
Like all of my gay friends, I hit refresh refresh refresh as I waited for the DOMA ruling to come out. Unlike my gay friends, I had to write a story on it. It was the hardest story I ever wrote, because I'd put my fingers on the keys, and I'd burst into tears. I'd pull myself together, and I'd put my fingers on the keys, and I'd burst into tears again.
Bisexual is not the same as gay, it's true. Bisexual is half straight, isn't it. I could pretend not to like women. I could make the choice to live my life halfway.
But now I can be my whole self. I can fall in love with whoever I want.
That's what the DOMA ruling means to me.