I was under the misguided impression that being gay meant one thing, and if I didn’t identify with societal bisexual stereotypes, I wasn’t a “good enough” gay person.
The constant reminders, buzzes and notifications caused my mental health to suffer, and I’m not alone.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve struggled to accept my body. I remember being no older than 11 and begging my mom not to make me go into the Macy’s dressing room. I hated playing with Barbies. I envied the girls who could fit into Abercrombie and Fitch and Lululemon. I went to an affluent private school in a conservative area, one that emphasized perfection in all aspects, including personal appearance. As an overweight theatre kid, I felt I didn’t make the cut.
It’s a go-to question at everything from college orientation to the Thanksgiving dinner table. “What’s your major?” And, for the longest time, my answer was simple: “biochemistry and pre-med.”
