An Open Letter To Whom It May Concerm
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At school, I crouched, not to hide my stomach but to hide my breasts. At college, I wore oversized tshirts, not to hide my now fatter stomach but to hide my breasts. While in college, I learned guitar, not to seem cool to everyone but to seem cool to the girls. I gave up dancing not because of the difficult theory exams but because I could no longer act like a uber-feminized version of a girl. My depression was (is) related to queerness. (But what if it’s more complex than that?)
In true late-bloomer fashion, I learned these things about myself 10-15 years after they happened. But honestly, I do not know what to do with this information. The epiphanies don’t really matter if I can’t share them with friends who can understand.
The world is going to shit, so on some days, I don’t think my queerness matters; ideally, it shouldn’t. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I’m kind of happy where I am, but maybe that’s because I don’t know what it will feel like to be seen? Reader, please tell me about the time you felt seen.
Yours Queerly,
MantaGay
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