I Don't Think People Realize This || Since When Is Love a Crime?

I will start by stating the fact that I'm bisexual. I'm not a lesbian, so I don't know to what point hiding yourself can be but I have a very close especulation of what it must be.

My family isn't extremely religious. They are. They just are. They're traditionalists. My mom comes from military family; doctors, lawyers, soldiers. My dad the same. For God's sake, my grandfather was besties with the fucking king of Spain. My sister is agnostic.

A few months ago my sister read my Facebook conversations (because, of course, she could and did. I'm done getting mad at my family for hacking into my account and reading my private shit.) and she found out I had a girlfriend. Her name is Raquel and I used to call her Rae. I don't. Not anymore.

My sister was crying. She was full-blown crying and asking me what she did wrong, what the hell happened to me, how did I drift to being like this. I didn't realize just how afraid of coming out I was until my sister sobbed into her hands and telling me that she was sorry for whatever she had done.

My sister and I don't have the best relationship. Around that time, I had dyed my hair pink because I wanted to for a long time and my family took it bad. Absurdly, horrifyingly bad. Since we don't have the best relationship I've taken a liking to becoming an ice queen when I'm comfronted with something delicate with me. She was shouting at me to stop being like I was and that she couldn't believe I had a fucking girlfriend. I wanted to cry really hard but I just set my lips into a line and did not say anything.

Then she looked at me with disgust. And while telling me that she was not homophobic ("One of my best friends is gay, please!") she was telling me that I was not a lesbian. And I told her that I wasn't. I told her that I liked Raquel. I told her that I really did. That she liked me back. That she loved me. That I loved her. Back then. I really did, I swear I did and it wasn't a rebellion phase. I really did.

She cried so hard, Elena, my sister. She was so sad. We agreed to not tell me but only if I broke up with Rae. I knew that if she told mom, she'd tell Rae's mom and I really did not want that. Her father is kind of a bad man and I don't want him to hate her more than he usually does. Rae doesn't deserve it.

I broke up with her and told my sister. Showed her. And she was fucking pleased.

People don't get it. People really don't.

Homophia is not about accepting that a man and a man can feel attraction to each other. It's about accepting that lesbians exist, too. That they feel the same as them when they look at their partner. Husbands and wives. That your child might love and told that they can't act on their feeling because love must be felt in a way that is acceptable. The way you love. The way you think. The way you breathe.

I did not want to break up with Raquel. I'm starting a relationship with a boy now, and of course I like him. But I cannot help but wonder what in the world would have happened if my sister weren't thinking like she is now.

TV is something. Watching a pair of people of the same sex kiss is acceptable when in a movie. It's applaudable. But when in a family dinner you realize your brother, your sister, your cousin or even your fucking pet is gay or bisexual or transexual or asexual or pansexual... whatever. When you realize that it doesn't matter it's when you can officially say that you are not fucking homophobic.

But don't tell me you've got a gay friend and then cry when I tell you I like a girl. I am so sorry but it doesn't work that way.

Why should people dictate how I live? Why? And I'm not only talking about my clothes (my mom hides my band tees, my ripped jeans and my old converse), my friends ("But Bea! That boy had blue hair, why should you go out with him? He's probably taking drugs!") or my likes ("God, Bea, no boy will like you if you play videogames and know about comics! Boys like girly girls!"). I don't want to keep doubting myself just because hypocrits keep telling me that what I feel is wrong.

God, all I want is to make them proud, don't they realize that?

I long for acceptance. It's my most weakness. I want to be accepted. Loved. Cherished. All while being bisexual, dressed in an AC/DC shirt and ripped jeans and reading my comic books. I'm still feminine, mom, please, don't you see that?

And I'm crying like a fucking idiot because I know I can never tell them. I can never marry who I really want. I can't tell them my dreams, my aspirations, my true feelings. I can never tell them of my suicide attempts, of how many times I truly cut in 2013, of me. And I want to. I want to tell them everything but that would make me so very fucking selfish.

And people don't get it. People don't realize that it's what tears us apart. I like boys. I like girls, too. Maybe I like girls a bit less than boys, but I do like them. It's not a fucking phase. It's not about religion or science or what fucking ever. It's about me. It's about loving me. I'm your daughter. I'm your sister. Your little sister. You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to love me no matter what.

You were supposed to make me feel loved and welcome and at home. And sometimes I don't even feel anymore because of the fear. And I hope to God that there's nothing above me than stars and endless matter. I hope there's no God to point a finger at me and tell me I was wrong all along. I truly hope that everyone will realize that when you speak down to me to speak down to all of me. My past, present and future.

I hurt so easily. So fucking easily. And oh, God, I miss her and I saw her yesterday and everything moves on but I never do. And I miss so many things that I shouldn't, and I want so many things that I couldn't begin to even get.

It's on the tip of my tongue every time I see it. "I'm sorry" and "please, don't hate me". I don't want to cry. I'm sick of crying and relating to sad songs that talk about suicide. I'm dry. I don't remember a day when I haven't lied to my family.

I'm writing again. I guess it's venting all over again. Can't remember when I've written for fun anymore. Mibba helps. Mibba sucks sometimes because I really wish the world was as welcoming as you. I'm trapped in my own head most of the time in selfish daydreams. And I'm so afraid of reality.

And it makes me wonder since when love has become a crime.