I once promised myself
I'd never let another man touch me. There are two kinds of
lesbians in this world, the way I see it: those who are
born desiring other women, and those who turn away from males for their own
reasons. My
grandmother was one of the latter- she turned away from my
grandfather after a life of hell, and sought
solace with another woman whose experiences were similar. I used to think I was one of the
former.
But as I let myself get closer to men again, even letting a so called "boyfriend" in my life... I'm not as sure anymore. I can hold another woman in my arms, spend the day with my hand in hers, but when night falls and I dream of futures, Prince Charming is always a *prince*.
If Freud was at all correct, our dreams are supposed to be tied to the depths of our subconcious. But I don't know what my dreams are conveying any more. It terrifies me to think that after a life of trying to change the opinions of others, of trying to hold by my principles, whatever those may be- that when I look to the future, I see the conventional life of a suburban lawyer, married, two and a half kids...
I suppose that for some, that's fine. But whenever that future looms in my thoughts... I think of Laura. How she lived, the conventional life, tied to her family, loyal to her husband. How she died, alone, sealed away in the garage, the engine of her soccer mom SUV delivering her to her final rest, the way she chose that over continued living.
I came so close to Laura's choice already. If that is what a life of convention brings... then I want no part in it. But I look around, and don't always see any other choices, any other paths.
Without my rebellion, be it atheism or bisexuality, or any of my millions of other causes... I don't think I'd have any identity left. If we are the sum of our actions, then that is all there is to me.