Tomorrow is gay-pride day here in Philadelphia. I won't be going. I can't make that statement without feeling a twinge of guilt and loss. Four years ago, I was still in a long-term relationship with a woman, one that lasted eight, almost nine years. Everyone knew about my "partner;" I made sense to people back then. Maybe in some way it simplified my understanding of myself. It made explanation unnecessary.
I am single now, and people are confused. They don't know "what" I am. My former partner wonders about my attachment to a man. Men I meet wonder what it means that I "go both ways." Of course, I come across the ones that think it means you want to have a threesome.
Tomorrow my "community" will march in a parade and celebrate being "gay." Yeah, there is a bisexual group with which I could align. I don't want to be shoved into a box. Tired of boxes.
So, tomorrow I will remember the love and attraction I had with my partner, her curly hair, and gregarious, loving heart. And, I will sort through my attractions to men. I will remember my marriage, and the nonjudgmental, forgiving man that was my husband. Tomorrow, I won't step into "community," but will be an intricate part of more than one, by default.