I'd like to talk about my queerness. I've tried to write this entry many times, but I always end up feeling dissatisfied and delete it. Identity can be complicated and mine resembles an old server rack tangled in cables going in every direction.

How might I tackle this subject without bogging myself down so much that the whole thing feels impossible to explain? Maybe start with a question, what exactly am I trying to answer here?

So how about we answer the question of, what is your gender/sexual identity label? Labels are useful, for certain, though as I've mentioned before I'm at a point where labels often don't fulfill everything I would like them to, but labels are an excellent place for starting an exploration, I feel.

I use the labels bisexual and nonbinary to describe myself. So there's a starting point. Let's start with the bi part since I think that'll be easier to explain.

The current popular definition of bisexuality indicates an attraction to two or more genders. Contrast that with pansexuality which is generally an attraction to all genders, though I have heard it described as gender not really affecting attraction, whereas for a bi person gender plays some kind of role.

I came out as bisexual in my early 20s when I was in community college in Arizona. I'd been hiding it for most of my life, feeling attractions for boys when I was as young as 3 or 4. It got through to me when I was 6 that liking other boys was taboo, when the neighborhood kids threw rocks at me.

In high school, I would often engage in gay chicken with my friends, generally winning. My girlfriend at the time hated it, she used a lot of harsh language when reeming me out for my behavior. When I did eventually come out, none of my friends were surprised and all were supportive, including my now ex, who annoyed me with how much she threw "I knew it" around. A couple of my friends weren't even aware I was hiding it.

Either way, I just decided to not be gay in my teens. It seemed simple enough. But in my 20s I met someone who was hiding her bisexuality as well, and seeing how isolated it made her to think nobody else understood made me realize I wanted people around me to know they were safe. So I came out, and with it the typical psychological booby trap of imposter syndrome.

There was never really an "awakening" or anything like that, I simply just kinda always knew I was bi, just hiding it. I mean, I mostly prefer women for the most part as it stands.

I really like androgynous people, but I still lean pretty heavily toward feminine individuals. If we want to use the kinsey scale (which has its own problems) I'd probably mark myself a 1.5. Does that make me gay enough to count? I've dated a couple guys, generally for very short periods, is that enough? I was once told (by a straight man no less) that my disinterest in anything anal made me hetero by default, even if I have deliberately had another dick in my mouth. Is that somehow not gay enough?

But then I remember back to the kids with the rocks, to my utter terror growing up hoping to god nobody finds out. Lots of people called me all kinds of slurs growing up, but nobody actually knew they were right, so I learned to shrug them off so as to not reveal anything by protesting too much.

I figure the trauma makes up for any lack of gayness on my part, though y'know, trauma doesn't make the queer.

I came out to my folks, who chose to mostly ignore it and pretend I said nothing. Like literally, stood there and pretend I said nothing. So I tried again another time and my folks just told me not to do that and tried to move on again.

My folks were never overtly homophobic. They always tried to teach me not to be cruel or mean or jump on bandwagons against people. They always taught me that everyone's sexuality and stuff therein was None of My Business (tm). But when it came to me, they definitely weren't happy and were apprehensive at best.

So the third time I came out happened while I was at university. One of the big bisexuality activists, Robyn Ochs, had come to visit campus, and as I was one of the officers of the campus' bisexual club (called ComBIne) I got to talk to her quite a bit. I connected with the other students who were in various states of coming to terms with their queerness, and even though I was a bit older than most of them, we all kinda shared this fear that who we were would keep us from meeting our potential.

So I confronted my Dad one more time. Not my Mom, because she isn't very capable of understanding due to her mental illnesses and cognitive impairments. Besides, she'd love me no matter who I brought home. I needed my Dad to understand.

He tried to brush it off like before, but I stopped him, raised my voice, and forced him to engage with me on this topic. I told him how I knew when I was a very small boy, that I had grown up in fear of being found out and being hurt, of how I felt like I couldn't be normal or loved because of this one thing.

And he apologized. He was the kind of dad that always wanted to have an answer for every single thing that ever crossed his kids' minds. He would always give advice, often unsolicited, on just about anything. And to be fair, it was very good advice usually.

This time though, he didn't know what to say. He said he was sorry that he didn't know how to advise me, that he is sorry he contributed to a scary home. That he loves and accepts me and is sorry he didn't know how to help me. That was more than enough for me.

Afterwards, I was so miserable. You might think I'd be elated, but see, my whole life it had felt like there was this big boulder that had fallen into the river of my wellbeing on the day I was witchhunted, keeping so much stopped up. And telling my Dad after it had been there for two decades didn't make it budge. It felt to me like it had been rusted into place and now I had to live with it forever. I was absolutely devastated.

Except a couple years later, I realized it had eroded, that rock within me. That after I was able to talk to my Dad about it, it had come loose even if it didn't fall away then and there. Eventually the river had washed it away. It took time, and is still taking time, but that part of me feels free now.

Phew. Gotta say, that was hard to write. And that's the simple part of my queer identity, the gender thing is a whole other enchilada, so I'm going to let that wait for another day. I still feel like this isn't really giving anyone a clear picture of what's going on with me.

So that's one little part of what makes me queer. The gender thing is very complicated, and the usage of the queer label has too many thoughts accompanying it as well.

All I've ever really been able to know about myself is whatever moment I find myself in, but unfortunately I drag around so many other moments that it's hard to tell where the day ends and yesterday begins.

The good thing is that I don't have to figure it out today, or maybe ever.