Bi Demi Me: Or, an Exploration in Sexual Identity

Hi there. It’s me. The blogger. For those of you who might be new here, here are some things to know about me: I’m a Hufflepuff. I’m starting a new job. I have watched Good Omens about five times in the last three months and I’m not about to stop rewatching it so help me God. I’m a trauma survivor who’s spent the last year completely reorganizing my mind and my heart and my life, which means I’m returning back to myself in a way and rediscovering/uncovering things about myself. One of these things is demisexuality.

I’ve known for a long time that I have a complicated relationship with sexuality. I didn’t really experience anything that looked like sexual attraction until my late teens/early twenties and then it was built a lot on just wanting someone to be attracted to me and/or someone who wanted to kiss me. Growing up as a young woman in a certain social context (Catholic school up through half of fifth grade, a grandmother who asked me every Christmas starting around age 10 or so if I had a boyfriend, a society focused on wanting women’s bodies to look slim and fit and fun like Jennifer Aniston from Friends or one of the Spice Girls) I felt a certain pressure to meet certain socially constructed goals or expectations – have a partner to take to Homecoming and eventually Prom. Get married in my twenties. Have a family? (Okay, I could never see myself having kids, but I did entertain it for a very short time.) I struggled a lot with loneliness in the last twenty years (as an anxious, shy, only child who didn’t make friends easily, there were a lot of reasons for this) and, as the dominate narrative I saw in stories involved romance, I began to yearn for a significant other by the middle of high school. Up until then, I couldn’t understand a boyfriend. I genuinely thought boys my age were gross and didn’t really feel any sort of interest in anyone other than Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings and Ewan McGregor. I had a few awkward crushes on people in my life, generally because I cared about them a lot and, as I wasn’t good at sorting my feeling but I was good at ruminating on them, I dwelled on them and thought they might be crushes (they weren’t – not really. It was a platonic kind of love we don’t discuss enough in the world. But that’s another post).

By college, I began to to panic. I had never been kissed. I had never had a boyfriend. I decided college is when this would happen. College was, instead, a landslide – moving aside the rubble of who I thought I was and trying to uncover the true person underneath, the person I’d buried under graphic t-shirts and sarcasm in high school because I was afraid of being seen as week or vulnerable. During this time, my crushes on actors continued (notably, John Barrowman, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Tom Hiddleston) and I explored the world of Tumblr. Around this time, I first heard the word asexuality. Thanks to Tumblr and Sherlock Holmes (and the BBC show Sherlock), this identity became present in my life – the absence of sexual attraction, not due to physical issues or trauma, but because one simply did not experience it. I found this incredibly relieving – as someone who had a sort of a sex drive but didn’t feel compelled to act on it, who didn’t feel attracted to anyone, unless I knew something deep or significant about someone. I became very good at getting weird crushes-that-weren’t-actually-crushes on people I wanted to like admire or like me. Meanwhile, the only romantic thoughts I actually had were towards fictional characters, usually played by notable British actors, because I learned a great deal about the characters in the course of whatever media I was consuming. As people began to act weird about the “never being kissed thing” (one friend’s boyfriend notably remarked, “How? It’s not like it’s hard”) I began to think that maybe I didn’t approach physical interaction and attraction the same way as everyone else.

I struggled with a great deal of body image issues (that’s not actually past tense – I still struggle) that made it hard for me to think that anyone would be attracted to me. I believed men (because yes, right now, I thought I was only attracted to men) were attracted to certain types (tall, blonde, generally looking like Rachel McAdams – which I understood, or Taylor Swift – which I didn’t understand). I had been led to believe I was not attractive – or at least was not the ideal attractive type, and never would be – and thus I would be alone forever. This on top of simply not experiencing attraction beyond deep connections with fictional characters was… a lot. I cried about it. I panicked about it. My (then) undiagnosed anxiety went mad about it. I thought there might be something actually wrong with me. I tried to read about asexuality, greysexuality, and demisexuality (which I related to most and told a few people I might identify as) as much as possible, but I still felt like I was doing something wrong.

I began to worry about time – if I didn’t get kissed/ get a boyfriend/ have sex by a certain time, it’d be weird. I’d already become an old maid in the eyes of my grandmother, I’d already spent the entire semester of my Human Sexuality course panicking about being the only virgin in the room, and I was also trying to figure out how the hell scientists could research sex without feeling super weird about it (note: I’m still trying to figure that out. Looking at you, Bill Masters). The entire idea of porn revolted me and made me scared. Seeing someone naked also scared me. My own body scared me. There was a lot of fear.

And then I fell for someone, a real in the flesh person, in 2014. I got my heart broken, and I acted like an idiot, but it was real. I had my first sexual experience, which threw me into a literal and figurative tizzy. And then my brain did something very, very stupid – in threw out all the things I thought I might new about how I felt about sex and decided that I was up for anything. I had two one night stands (which I felt humiliated about and still do, despite arguing that I have no reason to). With my ex, I wanted to experiment – I’d recently come out as bisexual, realizing that I was actually attracted to all genders, now that I was feeling attraction (albeit in a still pretty limited sense). I’d already had certain negative experiences with it – there seemed to be a sense that bisexuals were into free love, multiple partners, and rough sex – which simply wasn’t the case. I’m embarrassed now that I felt such a pressure to have sex and a yearning to explore it (and try to convince myself that it could be good) that I wouldn’t say no. Of course, there was the added caveat of this being a toxic relationship and that when I did try to place limits, I was cajoled into other actions. It was like a bit of overcorrection – I went from not wanting sex to thinking I wanted sex all the time. And it caused me a lot of stress.

I regret that I didn’t see what I see now – that I wasn’t comfortable doing what I was doing and that I didn’t communicate that. On one hand, I wanted to explore my sexuality, and I thought I would get that. But I got exploring it only on my ex’s terms. I kept expecting things to change and they didn’t. There’s a whole lot more going on here than not really allowing myself to be honest with my ex and myself (bad communication all around and lots of other stuff as discussed in previous post), but there was probably an underlying layer of this tension throughout. True, my body was keen on exploring sexuality and it felt good thinking about it, but the actual experience was… well, simply put, it was not great.

Post-break up, I was back to being disgusted by sex. I thought it was an inability to be attracted to anyone else due to heartbreak, then later shame and regret when I realized how upsetting what I’d done and what I’d been through was. Months later, that lack of interest in sex is still there. And, thanks to the reemergence of asexual narratives in my life (can I hear a wahoo for Good Omens?) I started thinking about the asexuality spectrum again. Because, like other sexualities, it is a spectrum. I know that bisexuality is a spectrum – though I struggled through not feeling bi enough, there is no one way to experience it. Likewise, asexuality is a spectrum. Being attracted to someone threw me off and, while I do have some sex drive and interest in physical behavior, by and large I am far more interested in emotional connection. I prefer cuddling and talking and establishing intimate bonds more than anything else. As I’ve learned from my weird British actors crushes (again, thanks, Good Omens, for another realization), it’s easier to establish feelings when I know something about someone (or a character) – and the more I know, the easier it is (fictional characters or people you don’t actually know have the added benefit of allowing you to write scripts about them in your head and, as you don’t actually know them, they won’t disappoint your or throw off your scripts). Though I thought my sexual experiences and behavior meant I couldn’t be demisexual, I was wrong – again, it’s a spectrum, and what I might do is not indicative of my entire sexual preferences (this was discussed in a film I saw recently – You, Me, and Him – I have mixed feelings about it overall but this part was a nice touch). Also, it’s an ongoing process – I’ve learned things about myself I didn’t know before. And, thanks to articles like this wonderful piece from The Guardian, there’s a lot more discussion and representation out there about the asexual spectrum, and a lot more for people like me to read and help them understand themselves (side note: Dan Savage is mentioned in this article and I used to fervently listen to his podcast. While he’s on the money about some things, trans and asexual identity are not it. But more about that another time).

I also want to focus on being single – something I hated when I was younger and love being now. Being single is nothing to be ashamed of. There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, I’m a far healthier and happier person being single than I ever was in when in a relationship (that was indicative of the relationship of course, but point being – don’t be in a relationship if it’s shitty simply to avoid being single). Some people never want to be in a relationship. That’s fine. Some people never want to be in a romantic relationship. That’s fine. Some people only have sexual relationships. That’s fine. Some people only have romantic relationships. That’s fine. There’s a lot of ways to be in this world. And we need to start accepting them all far more.

The new piece for me to grapple with is bisexuality and demisexuality – because I am both. Or at least, I am a demisexual who is attracted to all genders – at least in the sense that I could have relationships with all genders. I suppose technically I am a demisexual – biromantic (which is represented in the first of the images at the start of this piece). Or can I simply say I’m a bisexual-demisexual? Can’t I be both? Can’t I show that bisexual people are not all focused on sex? At the end of the day, words fall a bit short. But I know more of who I am than I did just a year ago. It’s another coming out – but coming out is a never-ending process, really, especially when you have identities that are misunderstood or thought to not real. I always felt drawn to bisexuality being represented by mermaids, but I really feel keen on making narwhals be representative for my specific identity. I’m not a myth but people think I am and no one really understand the things I do. But I know and I’m happy. And that’s what matters.

I hope to keep writing about my experiences with this intersection of identities and I hope to further represent the ace spectrum. But I’ll start here. I’m the blogger. I’m demisexual, bi, and I’m done being what people think I should be. I’m me and I’m perfect as I am.

A Way Forward

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For those of you wondering: is this going to be a personal blog now? Here’s the answer: No, note entirely. But also yes. Yes and.

In order to write about writing, theater, and the arts in general, I need to show where I’ve come from. The past couple years of my life have drastically changed me as a person (somehow simultaneously bringing me back to a more authentic self, more connected to who I was when I was growing up and also someone different – a little less afraid, a little stronger, a little more scarred and accepting of my scars.

I’ve changed greatly as a writer too – I used to have this sense of blockage that kept me from writing frequently. Post-heartbreak, post-world turned upside down, I don’t have this same struggle. Finding time to write is a continual issue but, after a lot of work soul-searching, and writing when I didn’t feel like it (especially when I didn’t feel like it), I have more ideas than I can handle. Not that I was short on ideas before but wasn’t like this. Have I exorcised what was blocking me or am I possessed by something new?

Everything in my writing goes back to current events and my personal philosophy that is growing and evolving with me as I evolve and grow. This is also why it’s important to know the background of where I’m coming from, why current politics have greatly effected my writing, and why it makes writing all the more important. Many of my friends who are artists and I sit around wondering how and what we create in a world where every day is like a fight to survive. The world has always been this way for many of us, of course, more so for some than others. It’s wound tighter now and it’s more visible than before and many of us who have privilege are experiencing this struggle for the first time. Some of us are more likely to take risks and say things we were afraid to say before – because if not now, when?

So – yes, this is a personal blog. This is a theater blog. This is a writing blog. This is a blog for me to rant and hope and fight for change. This is me to talk about fighting against mental health stigma, against ableism, against homophobia and biphobia and transphobia. This is a place to reckon with white privilege, to denounce racism and white supremacy, and to recognize how it continues to work on me – and resist it. This is a place to support femme and nonbinary voices, resist the patriarchy, and fight against toxic masculinity. These things have become clearer than ever for me and I expect they will become more clearly expressed on my blog. And so away we go.

I Won’t Go Down With This Ship: Or, What Happens Next

In a transition between my last bomb-drop of a post and whatever is to come, I’ve penned this letter to myself as a retrospective look back and recognize how far I’ve come. There will be more about theater and writing soon, but for now, this is what I have for you. 

Dear 2018 me,

Hi. This is you in 2019. Believe me when I say things get better for you. You’ve gotten your first or second significant crush since “the break-up” (which has earned its scare quotes quite strongly, I might say). So what if said crush is on an unattainable Welsh actor who’s been on the periphery of your awareness for the last decade and has now overwhelmed you with their talent due to a certain mini-series which, due to the excitement it will cause you, I won’t name and will leave you to discover for yourself. The point is, the crush – regardless of who it’s for – is an important sign of growth, a realization that your heart is healing, has healed, is moving on.

How did you get from floored heartbreak that you never thought you’d recover from to this? It’s a strange evolution. And one that is difficult to track.

Part of you is still filled with concern writing this. As you scrawl away, you feel somewhere that it is a betrayal of trust, that you have somehow hurt him. You are already concerned that your Instagram stories and posts have hurt him. Perhaps this will too. But on a scale of damage, this is small compared to what you could do, what you have been tempted to do which, thankfully, 2018 self, you do not do. Though you hate to compare different experiences of pain because each experience is different, you have aggrandized his and ignored yours in the past and you cannot downplay the damage he has caused you anymore.

One of the last texts you will receive from him before you stop responding (it will not be ghosting, I want you to know – ghosting is dropping out at the middle or beginning of a relationship, not in the dumpster fire that has been the end in order to make a clear finish and give yourself the boundaries you deserve) will be “sorry that I caused you pain.” You will wish it was a genuine apology – but you will sense that it is not. Not after months of stringing you along after breaking up and promising to have a conversation that never happens. You will refused to go down with this ship. You will not let this destroy you – you will break free and find a better place to journey to and a better way to get there.

Lord willing, one day you will stop writing about this. You very nearly have. You have written a hundred plays no one will ever read about what has happened to you and it has done you so much good – both in terms of your strengths as a writer and as a person. You have discovered whole new stories you never though of writing before – in fact, you are writing now more than you ever have before. You have discovered new books and shows and things to fill your life with that have helped you recover, not just from this but from years of buried memories and abuse. Books like Good OmensGoodbye Sweet GirlThe Hating GameCinder, and Carry On will fill your life with utter joy. Pure joy is not something you have felt in a long, long time and you will be amazed at how good it feels.

You have reclaimed Neil Gaiman as one of your favorite writers. When you were with your ex, it was something that somehow belonged to him. You bought him a copy of a Gaiman book one Christmas, one you hadn’t read yet, thinking he might read it and share it with you. You’re not sure he ever actually did read it. Now you’ve bought yourself your own copy, allowed yourself to delve back into fandom, and have watched Good Omens five times, despite the fact that you were afraid to even watch it once, thinking it would remind you of your ex and one of his favorite authors. But it didn’t. Neil Gaiman was yours long before you ever knew your ex liked him and Gaiman has always belonged to you, as have all the other things you care about that overlapped with your ex. You regret on one level that you gave away a few copies of Gaiman novels and short stories but you’re glad those who took them will enjoy them and you know it was part of a grieving process, one that led you back to a stronger, better you. If you gave those books away, would you have ever bought your own copy of View from the Cheap Seats? Would you ever have made it back to the place where you can happily read Gaiman and celebrate fandom and talk happily about the days when you liked Twilight? How long has it been since you’ve allowed yourself to enjoy things without caring what some would-be partner thought?

You will beat yourself up for taking so long to have these epiphanies and realizations and waking up from what feels like a very long bad dream. It is only after months of therapy, a great deal of arguments with yourself, lots of side-eye from friends and voices of reason, having him not show up again and again and again for you (especially in the wake of a family death and graduation from grad school), and sobbing through a Brandi Carlile concert – which will most clearly define the shift in your grieving process to one of moving on – that you can see more clearly how you feel and what has happened. Time gives a sort of clarity, one that brings a whole new lens to your life. You are ready to remove toxicity from your life – not just your ex, but others who don’t respect your boundaries, jobs that don’t value you, and systems which have made you feel broken and wrong. You will be come stronger, weirder, queerer – and you will feel the most authentically yourself you ever have in your life.

You hope by writing this you are throwing a life vest to someone who deeply needs to leave an abusive relationship or needs assurance that things get better. Or maybe for those who need to see some hope or just need to hear the truth. As one of your favorite actors in the Twin Cities said about your previous post, “You could be someone’s Jessica Jones.” This might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about your writing. If anything, you are doing this for yourself, to remind yourself how far you have come, how much you have grown, and how much growing you still have to do. You will no longer shy away from the hard conversations. You will no longer be afraid to speak your mind. You are amazing and you are finally able to see it.

Lots of love,

2019 me

 

 

Time for a Change

Hello friend, blog readers, and those of you stumbling across this expecting to find something about the musical Hamilton:

You might have noticed there’s been a steady decline in my reviewing over the last couple of years. As I focus more on my own writing and work more nights and evenings in my “day job,” it’s become harder for me to keep reviewing. After much though, I’ve decided to officially move away from reviewing on my blog. There are a number of reasons for this decision, which I’ll illustrate below:

  • It’s getting harder and harder to ethically review plays in town without being influenced by people I’ve worked with or know who might be working on projects. Generally, this has only been good – it means I’m excited to share something that a friend is in or want to let audiences know how much I’ve enjoyed it. But after going through some rough patches in my personal life, I don’t want to put myself in a place where I feel like I need to criticize something because of someone working on it. And I also don’t want to only review shows because I know someone in the cast.
  • Time and money are big factors. Unlike journalists who review, I’m not paid for anything on this site (just the opposite, actually). Financially, I’m in a place where I need to work as much as possible in order to get myself in a more stable place post-grad school.
  • I desperately need to focus on my own writing more. I’ve done a great job of doing that after graduating from my MFA program, but it’s come at the cost of letting my blog lapse. I want to keep writing here, but I’d rather write about being a writer and talking about the day to day life of a playwright (who also writes in other genres).
  • I would be lying if I wasn’t making this decision off the affects speaking out about Children’s Theatre had about me. The blog post (in which I shared Laura Stearns-Adams statement about CTC) was the most visited post I’ve ever had on this site. It also was the most stressful. I was removed from CTC’s press list and it caused me to think about what I want to do in order to engage with issues and causes I feel strongly about in town and in the world at large. I can’t stay silent and I want to share and strengthen my voice. But I also don’t want to do it from a position where I will be ignored or alienated for speaking out. I also don’t want to burn bridges if I don’t have to and I feel it’s easier if I do it from the perspective of a theater artist and community member.
  • I’m changing and growing a lot as a person. I’ve been working through some difficult personal experiences over the last year (much of which as been stimulated again by the CTC issues). I believe I eventually want to write posts about these experiences but I’m struggling with my comfort level of being able to do so. Putting aside my work as a reviewer somehow makes it easier, paired by the fact that the number of press releases I get is stressful to me. There is so much theater in town to see and I know I can’t see it all, but feeling like I have to see it in order to support the community is something I’m struggling with. In short, there’s a lot of struggle in my mind.

All in all, I’ve decided to step back and work on different kinds of writing about theater – primarily about playwriting and craft, perhaps with a few performing arts and pop culture posts sprinkled in here and here. I hope you all will continue reading and also supporting the other Twin Cities Theater Bloggers who put and incredible amount of time and dedication into what they do. I’m honored to have been among them and grateful to still be an honorary member.

So that’s what’s new with me. Until next time- happy theater-going!

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Dear Grace (#metoo)

Dear Grace,

I know this is not your real name, but hello. I read the article that was posted about you on Babe.net in which you discuss a situation that happened with Aziz Ansari. I would like to first say I believe you. There are plenty of reporters right now from CNN, the New York Times, and especially the Atlantic* who would rather complain about how you are making mountains out of molehills or accusing Ansari of not being able to read minds or any possible rhetorical strategy they can find to belittle your story. Do not let them belittle you. Your struggle is real. I understand it well. Because #metoo.

I admit that I was shocked when I initially heard about the allegations against Ansari. I enjoyed his book Modern Love and like his work. However, at this point, I’m finding that a lot of people I admire have done less than admirable things and, while no one is perfect, there is a difference between making mistakes and owning up to them, and hiding them and pretending to be a perfect of example and using your power to do so. I work in theater and I hear about how all too often someone’s success is used to protect them. It is part of the reason I am so afraid to discuss incidents that have happened to me. I am also afraid because of the responses to your stories, in which people blame you for being too ignorant, of not saying “no” clearly enough, of not facing the issue head on and feeling upset about it later and using it as “revenge porn” (clearly the reporter from the Atlantic who uses this phrase has absolutely no idea what revenge porn actually is). As a person who has felt upset about an incident and later was unsure how to handle it, I feel these are unfair attacks. I have been in situations where I could have more clearly communicated how I felt but I was so surprised that I was never asked or it was assumed that I wanted something a certain way that I wasn’t sure how to proceed from there. The point of your story is that men do not ask – they take – and that we live in a culture that socializes them to be this way. They assume if we are sexually active that, even if we are drunk, our mumbled yes is consent. They assume that if we say yes to one thing, we are okay with anything they do. They think that the moment they are done with us, we should be done with them and they do not care about our emotional well-being afterwards. They think that we can read their minds and we can completely understand what they want and that their needs come first. They think because they talk about feminism and post about feminism, it makes them a feminist and it some how absolves them of the sexist things they do in their personal lives because they present themselves as a feminist generally but fail to practice those things in their personal life. I of course am using “they” broadly here to talk about issues I have seen in my experiences. For those who would call me out, I don’t mean “all men” but several I have had encounters with. The fact that I still have to say “not all men” is an issue of how I’ve been socialized to excuse and avoid and pardon the flaws of men while women are constantly being reprimanded and people of other genders are kept invisible in most of these discussions. People of other genders are affected too. The patriarchy is not good for anyone. Why we perpetuate it and continue to give it power is beyond me.

Here is one of the many reasons why this matters: of the partners I have had (a statistic I will not disclose because that’s no one’s business), I have had exactly one who has asked me what I wanted, who has checked in with me, who has made sure that I am comfortable. He has taught himself to do this – I have not had to ask him to listen. We are working to listen more to each other but the fact that he started by asking, that he started by listening is something I have never experienced before. He is my current partner and we’ve been together for many months and still I am surprised when he checks in with me, when he wants to know what I want, when he asks questions. This should not surprise me. Having a male partner like this who is like some rare unicorn in the midst of everyone else is not the way things should be. But I’m afraid that the desires of women are terribly misunderstood and misrepresented. These reporters are not helping but reinforcing what has already been built against us. We are like birds, throwing ourselves against the bars of a cage and hoping the bars will break. I believe that one day the bars will break, or that someone will open up the cage. But it is going to take time. Until, stay strong, and I will keep fighting for women like you, like me, for all women. I hear you. I believe you. And #metoo.

 

*I am not linking to these articles because I do not want to be sending readers directly to them. They are poor excuses for reporting and opinion and the Atlantic piece is especially badly written.

A Little Respite, A Little Rest

Hey all. It’s your friendly neighborhood playwright/blogger here. You might have noticed a slight lull in reviewing. It’s not that I haven’t seen shows – I saw Hamlet at Park Square at the beginning of October, The Privateer at Park Square a couple of weeks ago, and In the Next Room at the Rarig Center just this weekend. I, however, have not reviewed them. It’s not that I don’t want to review them. But the problem is with my brain and the things it’s struggling through right now.

I have anxiety. And not like Zooey Deschanel-New Girl -“I’m socially awkward” anxiety. I mean the actual mental condition of generalize anxiety disorder. It’s been a greater struggle as I’ve become an adult and left the structure that school and having set classes offered and, as the years have gone on, it’s become a larger influence on my life. I only acknowledged that I had anxiety in 2015 and, since then, I’ve been working to learn to better handle it and reduce the things that provoke and trigger it. The 2016 election has been a definite trigger, so the last year has been a little rough. But it’s also been one of the best years of my life and I’ve grown in a lot of ways.

Right now, I’m relearning how to live with my anxiety. I started taking Zoloft just over a month ago and cut out a lot of things in my life that were causing me additional stress. One of those things was the number of shows I see. I decided to cut back in order to have more free time to focus on grad school and relax. However, after cutting back shows I found that I still didn’t have the desire to review. I wanted to see theater, but reviewing had begun to feel like a job – no, a relentless task, something that I was continually being asked to do and continued to accept because, more and more, I feel that the theater community is becoming reliant on bloggers to make up for the inadequate press we have in town. As much as like voicing my views on theater, I also don’t want to create the expectation that I will see all the shows and write all the reviews and always share my socio-political perspective. I like doing that, but right now I am tired and I need to take a break. I need to remember what it’s like to see a show without having to worry about getting home to my computer to write down my thoughts. I want to remember what it’s like to watch shows as an audience member, as an artist, not a reviewer. In the long run, I think it’ll make me a better artist and critic.

I’m hoping to get back into reviewing, I think, but right now I really need to make time for myself. The world is full of stresses and triggers, as it always has been, but my engagement with them has changed. I’ll continue to see shows, hopefully a couple a month, and I plan on writing here, more about playwriting and other thoughts I have on theater. In the meantime, I’m working on a series of posts about anxiety and theater for Minnesota Playlist, so keep your eyes out for that (I’ll also share them here once their published).

Thanks all and see you around town.