And no, Mother Panda never adjusted. I received a lecture on how I was denying the opposite sex their right to my body. After staring at her with a face, I explained that no one has a right to anyone's body. It went downhill from there, with her threatening to sue my college for turning me gay. This led to more face and I informed her that I would not testify for the prosecution. It's never gotten any better over the years.
Oh Panda, if only you could have gone to art school in the Bay Area, you wouldn't have felt to so isolated!
Panda, that makes my heart hurt. I remember how much my brother struggled with coming out. Some of our family have never accepted it.
“If I didn't define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people's fantasies for me and eaten alive.” --Audre Lorde
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Current interests - Starting Strength (reading it very slowly)
Well, agreeing with everyone else, no one has any right to your body. In this instance, Gay Panda's body is Gay Panda's unless Gay Panda chooses otherwise! Wow! Your college, eh? It would be amusing if she hadn't been serious.
Oh, wow! I take it she and Lady Friend aren't best friends. Well, you can take it from most of us here -- not big on numbers, but I think 80,000+ have been on here, that you are the white sheep of the family in that sense of the saying. Personally, I love every color of sheep and human and horse and goat, and I love black sheep. They're often the most fabulous of all. Man, I think she'd feel so lucky to have you as her Gay Panda. I know I would be.
What is it with mother's? They supposedly bring their children up to be their own individual human beings but don't ever want to lose control of that human being. I always thought it fun when my itsies grew bigger and became independent with their own ideas, genders, sexualities, ways of life, etc. Yeah, they threw me for loops sometimes, but they are every one utterly cool humans traveling their own roads.
So, total support in everything from this sheep (also the black sheep of the family).
I was raised that those different from us were different, and somehow lesser, but not evil or godforsaken or any of that. I knew I was straight before I knew what gay was. The idea of lusting after or even play kissing with the same gender as foreign and off putting. I knew a guy in HS whose story was similar to yours. My littlest sister is bi, everyone gets a chance. I'm also the only person in the family she's told.
I am not the black sheep. For right now, I'm the successful one, the engineer, the married one, and why haven't I popped out any spawn for them to lavish over. I am not the black sheep. I am the one that talked my mother back from the brink because I was the only one she'd allow near her, because she didn't trust my father, my middle sister was off in her own little world, my youngest sister was too young, and her best friend thought she was gay (shame of shames, to her mind, which is why Pat hasn't told anyone but me.)
I am the normal one, or as normal as things get in my family. I am the normal one in a family of black sheep. Does that make me the black sheep? My father failed out of engineering, the first firstborn to do that in 3 generations. My mother... my mother is her own special kind of black sheep. My middle sister went to jail for a crime she didn't commit. My youngest sister is bi. My only abnormality is that I'm going to hell for not being Christian and marrying another heathen.
Ignore all that, I guess, I was just trying to muddle through my own head what being normal and black sheep and rejected for who you are meant. I will note that I would've opened the church doors for you, I would've helped you open that space-time rift, and I likely would've been the one that called the ambulance. Escape is not the answer, but sometimes, it seems the only choice. I wish I could show you the scar I gave myself during my own night with the knife. I wish a million and one things, but most of all, I wish you to be happy, as yourself, as EVERYTHING you are. Normal is a setting on the washing machine.
Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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