Bisexuals are a group that are too often left out of queer circles. Those of us who do not identify as gay or lesbian seem to be easily forgotten or, in the worst cases, blatantly ignored.
Sometimes it's intentional, other times it's not. But regardless of intent, the impact -- the feeling that we bi folks have when we're left out of the club -- it's almost universal. Every bisexual person I have ever come into contact with has a story about their identity being forgotten, misconstrued, or ignored. It happens from the time we come out until, well, I don't know when it stops. I don't know that it ever does.
The first time I saw my friend Jen after coming out to her, she introduced me to her coworkers as a lesbian. When I corrected her, she waved dismissively and gave me the old "Whatever; same thing," response.
And while the microagressions are oftentimes even more micro and subtle than that, they still help to contribute to a feeling of alienation, of being on the outside looking in.
When monosexual friends of mine want to go out, they'll often ask me to go out and hunt for men or women with them. Whatever gender they are interested in, that's the gender they want to look for with me (as if I can turn off the part of my brain that's interested in multiple genders for a night.)
My family has a running joke wherein they refer to me as "Happy McKenna," because back in the old days "gay" simply meant "happy or joyful." My Twitter feed is telling me about Hillary Clinton's history of supporting "the gay community." Most people refer to pride events/festivals/parades as "Gay Pride" even though plenty of their visitors are bisexual, trans, pansexual, asexual, etc.
They're little things, sure; but they add up. And they get heavy after a while.
In the years since coming out, I've become almost used to the weight of these kinds of microagressions. It still gets tiring sometimes, but it's a pest I've grown to live with.
So when I told a friend of mine last week that I was going on a date and he immediately asked "guy or girl?" it felt monumental. It felt refreshing. It felt like I'd been heard and validated in a way that I'm often not.
Bisexuals usually understand and validate each other, of course. We get each other. We're in the same club, after all.
But my friend is a gay man. To have him ask me that simple question felt incredible. And somehow the fact that he didn't even care enough to look up from his phone made it even better -- like my story wasn't interesting enough to get his attention yet.
In that moment, with those three words, he validated me. He made me feel accepted and safe and so wonderfully normal (so normal it was almost boring to him).
We live in a society that constantly forgets bisexuals, pansexuals, omisexuals, etc. We can be made to feel like the lonely kid at the party.
Oftentimes all we want is to be included in a conversation, and for our identities to be validated and normalized. It is my hope that eventually every letter in LGBT will be heard equally, as well as those identities the ancronym leaves out (I'm looking at you pansexuals, asexuals, demisexuals, queer individuals, and every other wonderful and badass group out there).
Simple acknowledgment is huge. Being inclusive is revolutionary, and it's vital if we are to continue on a path towards accepting, supporting, validating and normalizing not only bisexuals, but every other marginalized group of people, as well.
