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Writer and lesbian activist reflects on her post Prop 8 experience in Richmond, Virginia. 'Some time has passed.I can finally come crawling out of my hole and stop sulking. Ok, so the California supreme court upheld Prop 8 by 6 to 1. Richmond’s protest made the decision even more depressing.
She was an addict, but so was I. She found exactly what she wanted and couldn't stop wanting at the bottom of every bottle. I was addicted to her...Fixing her. Making her better so that she could love me. The more she drank, though, the worse the abuse got. I made up reasons as to why I had a black eye, or bruises adorning my cheekbones and jaw line.
Twenty-four years old and freshly laid-off from a "secure" State job, but it wasn't really State. I worked in an office processing birth certificate requests. It was so boring. In my office it was...Them: Jesus. God. Lord. Our Father. Amen. Me: I can't get married in this state. I'm queer. Separation of church and state.
I struggle with the age-old butch/femme stigma endlessly. Am I too boyish? Too needy? Too tough? Too weak? The age old identity question pops up for a smallish-town gay girl.
My face is still warm from the slap in the face my united states has given me. With every battle won, are there not always wounds to suture? The gay marriage battle. A view from Virginia.
