The shame I was never meant to own...

When I was 19, I came out to my family as bisexual. It did not go well; within a couple of weeks of making my "announcement", I was kicked out. But I had a girlfriend at the time, and she kept me fairly happy considering the circumstances. I started to envision a life with her, but to my surprise, I could not. Instead I was plagued with feelings of deep guilt and shame. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just love--and truly have sex with--a boy? Why did I have to be some sick pervert?

That internal dialog won--twice. I married two different guys in an attempt to be a proper, healthy straight person. In between those relationships I had girlfriends, including one DURING my first

marriage. I tried hard to deny the "ugly" truth: I was not bi, but in fact gay, and a damn miserable gay individual at that. I buried myself in denial, living a lie that, at least, protected me from the awful shame I felt every time I allowed myself to be real. 

Denial comes at a huge price though, and in the end offers very little in the way of true protection. I nearly lost "me" in my attempt to avoid feeling ashamed.

When I met the traveling companion I so often allude to, I tried to run away again. The shame I felt washed over me in a tidal wave that nearly drowned me. I did not want to feel the guilt that my "perverted" feelings induced. And then it hit me: I was never truly ashamed. Those hangups were not mine. They belonged to someone else. I only thought that was the way I felt because I'd been convinced of that. When I made that discovery, I ran right back to my companion. I realized she was a gift, someone to cherish and spend my life with. I could find no shame in that, but I would have been terribly guilty had I allowed such an incredible gift to go to waste.