I think that’s why it’s really difficult for girls. For me. We follow narratives and our fingertips trace the contours of the stories we love and we long to escape within the confines of our own lives. Meet your boyfriend in the pouring rain and yank down his mask and kiss him upside down. Run with your boyfriend to the front of the ferry and throw your arms out to the side and scream, “I’m king of the world!” If you are a girl in love with a boy, your possibilities are infinite.
If there is a special girl in your life, you love her as a friend. You love her as a friend, but she becomes less important to you as you grow, and you leave her behind for a boy. She might even stand next to you when you marry the boy, and she might catch the bouquet of flowers that you throw to her. You’re giving her permission to move on, move away from you. It’s a ceremony of separation.
But if you should fall in love with a girl - and loving and falling in love are two very distinct things - the first kiss is the end. You’ve all seen the movie. Or the television show. Or the after-school special, or you’ve read the book that was banned from your school’s library for containing Sexual Content. The point of your story is not to fall in love. The point of your story is to struggle. Your story begins with a lie and climaxes in a truth and ends with a kiss. In the movie of your life, forty-five minutes are devoted to you figuring out how to say that you want to kiss girls, and another half-hour is devoted to people’s objections, and maybe the last fifteen minutes is you kissing the girl. Maybe you don’t even get to kiss the girl. Maybe she tells you that she’s flattered, but she doesn’t bat for your team.
The critics swoon; it’s realistic, they say, so realistic, to depict the struggle of the modern teen, the heartbreak of irresolvable incompatibility. Isn’t that always what celebrities cite in their divorces? “Irreconciliable differences.”
And so you’re lying on the floor of your bathroom, your knees curled to your chest, or you’re on your sofa with a pint of ice cream, or you’re in bed watching your favourite sad movie on Netflix, and the collective weight of all that you consume settles on your shoulders, leans in, and whispers, “You were never meant to fall in love.”
You were never meant to fall in love. Your story ends in tears or it ends in death. Jack Twist was bludgeoned to death with a tire iron and Ennis Del Mar was left alone in his closet to dance with an empty shirt. Alby Grant found Dale Tomasson swinging by a noose in the apartment that had been their safehouse, their respite, and he sank to his knees and cradled Dale’s bare feet and he cried. The Motion Picture Association of America axed Lana Tisdel and Brandon Teena’s sex scenes, but they didn’t have a problem with the extended shot of Lana cradling Brandon’s corpse in her fragile arms and falling asleep next to his body.
Love and intimacy are ours only in death, or so it would seem.
I don’t want to die. Isn’t that a very human experience? Not wanting to die? When does anyone who looks like me get to grow old and raise grandchildren and hold her wife’s hand as the skin wrinkles, turns translucent?
Sometimes my father asks me if I’ll ever date a man. Sometimes he doesn’t ask. “You are attracted to men, and you dream about falling in love with men,” he says, as if he can will his imaginary daughter into existence merely by speaking about her. Or maybe he is just looking out for my safety.
He’s seen the movies, too.
He loves me.
He doesn’t want me to die."
Oh, my God, this is beautiful, and now I’m nearly crying. This. ALL OF THIS OMG.
When my best friend and I were in high school, trying desperately (and usually failing) to either not be gay or at least not hate ourselves for being gay, she once confessed to me, crying, that one of the reasons she didn’t want to be a lesbian is that lesbians aren’t happy in love, that their relationships can’t last, that she’d never seen happy lesbians in stable relationships. This shit matters so hard y’all.
I know I already reblogged this but the added commentary is necessary and important so I’m doing it again.
To all the clueless assholes who say it doesn’t matter when lesbian characters are mistreated, abused, hurt and left alone and heartbroken, never getting to have happy relationships
And to all the asshole writers who think it doesn’t matter if they show lesbian characters being abused and suffering and not being able to have happy relationships with the women they love…or who think that it doesn’t matter if they don’t portray lesbian characters and relationships at all
IT FUCKING MATTERS
We’re sick and tired of having to make do with ‘subtext’ and ‘hints’ and teasing…and sick of the only lesbian representation we DO get always having things end horribly for them
this is why I tend to stay from most LGBTQ+ YA novels
because they are always sad and everyone ends up depressed or without their family or friends support or somewhere tragic
I DONT WANT THAT
I want to read books where the girl has her family and friends support and she meets another girl and they are kickass lesbians/bisexuals/pansexuals in love and it isn’t a tragedy
I want to read books where we in the lgbtq+ community are seen happy and healthy without the whole ‘come to terms struggle’ that seems to follow us in the media
I don’t want to have to keep expecting the person like me to lose everything just because she happens to love a girl