On depression, bisexuality, and being half-drawn
One of the joys of writing and editing comics is seeing a page go from simple thumbnails to full colors. There’s something particularly satisfying about seeing sketches one week, then over the course of a month (usually) you see those panels comes to life first through pencils, then inks, and then colors, which is an entire process itself. I’ve witnessed this process countless times and I still have a profound appreciation for it.
So why haven’t I allowed myself to be “fully drawn” in my own life?
I am bisexual. I live with depression. The latter has tried its best to prevent me from acknowledging the former. For all of my 20’s, my depression succeeded. It led me to have a half-drawn life. It’s time to complete the picture. Â
I knew I was bisexual since I was 14, and I talked to some friends of mine about it then. But as I grew older my confusion over my sexuality only grew. I used to think bisexuality meant a strict 50/50 attraction to both genders. The fact is, bisexuality can be felt in different ways. You can feel a greater attraction to one gender over another, and those levels of attractions can change. The important thing, I am finding now, is telling yourself that it is ok that you are attracted to both genders on some level. I prevented myself from doing that. By stifling these feelings, my depression had an unlimited supply of self-loathing sentiments to throw at me. It prevented me from pursuing romance in any serious way with either men or women. When I did, I made bad choices and put others in awkward positions. I kept my life half-drawn. Â
I have been lucky enough to live in Los Angeles and San Francisco, and have always been around queer people. You would think that would inspire me live an open life, instead of ignoring this vital part of myself. But no, depression is so strong it can take something wonderful and twist it against me. I was surrounded by people who were cool with the concept of bisexuality, many of them bisexual themselves, but I could not imagine them being cool with ME being bisexual. If I, a doughy white dude, declared that I was bi, I imagined everyone else thinking of me as a charlatan or just outright pitiful. I’d be seen as “not queer enough” or “not cool/stylish/attractive enough to be bi.” I want to stress that no one among my friends and acquaintances ever expressed any such nasty sentiments. These are intelligent and accepting people. But depression came up with lies to prevent me from being my authentic self, and I believed those lies. I told myself that I was surrounded by fully rendered masterpieces and I was just a lazy pencil sketch. I became more and more withdrawn in social settings.
I didn’t feel worthy of my desires. I didn’t even feel I should pursue romantic relationships with women. I dreaded the moment I would have to tell them about my sexuality, imagining it leading to an instant rejection. What’s more, and this is hard to put into words, when I am attracted to a woman I am still a queer man, and that feels different from being a straight man who is attracted to a woman. It’s its own paradigm. I never felt comfortable being straight, because I’m not. My explorations of gay romance were all clandestine, something I could compartmentalized as “not part of my life.” Instead of enjoying both worlds, I felt like someone who deserved neither. I felt alienated from all aspects of romance.
Thankfully, I found the tools to complete the drawing. Not that it is complete, but it’s getting there. I attended therapy, because my depression was getting out of hand. I’ve detailed how it affected my sexuality, but it wormed its way into all aspects of my life. Therapy led to prescription antidepressants, meditation, and attending support groups. All of these helped, but I want to specifically mention how import the support groups were for me. At the groups I am surrounded by people of all sexual orientations, and all types in general: race, class, body type, etc. Seeing so many people discuss their stories in a non-judgmental environment was a revelation. I have spent so much time judging myself. Judging myself harshly. So it completely changed my outlook when I shared my thoughts and others told me it helped. I had spent my life assuming every action I take will lead to ridicule and embarrassment, and here I was being my most honest self and finding the opposite.
Just as speaking your truth can be helpful to others, the self-harm in withdrawing from life can be harmful to others around you. There have been times when I have not been as good a friend as I wish I could have been. I left certain things unsaid, while at other times acting hastily out of desperation and fear (it was overcompensation for living an overly cautious life). These actions stoked anxieties in others. I was fine with dwindling my own quality of life (although I shouldn’t have been) but I could not abide by my depression, and the actions it inspired, making my friends uncomfortable.
Depression has great tenacity, and will find anything in your mind to survive. By denying myself, I gave it plenty to draw on. But now it’s time to give me back to myself. I will live and love authentically, and define myself as bisexual. There are many challenges to face. I’ll make a million  mistakes. But it’s clear that I should face them as a fully drawn figure, as opposed to shying away from life as a half-drawn sketch.
2087
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
titsay
janainaart
