A Letter To My teenage Self About Sex

I guess, I would tell you that you are gay. And not, “maybe bisexual but like 75% attracted to boys” but like, homosexual. Queer as can be. That you use words like “lesbian” to describe yourself and that you were not wrong in your distaste for hetero-sex, there was nothing wrong with you.

But maybe, actually, I would want you to figure that out for yourself. I wouldn't want to steal the moments in which you realize, in which you came alive. The moments of exhale and understanding, and joy and sex without tears and satisfaction and acceptance.

Instead, I would tell you about “compulsive heterosexuality”. I would tell you that you and I have learned the long passed on lesson of male validation as currency. That we have placed the value of our bodies and the value of ourselves to be determined by the gaze of the patriarch. That you do not need those boys, you do not need to be attracted to those boys or to feel their bodies inside of you to feel valuable, to feel happy.

I would warn you, about trauma. The way that those men will stay with you. I would want to tell that it gets better, and it does, but that it will go away, which it doesn't. 

I need to tell you that we replicate trauma, try to reclaim experiences of being taken and feeling invisible in an effort to be in control, to have a hand in this replication, to choose to feel small and not be forced into smallness. Please, I must tell you that there are other ways to reclaim sex. That trauma is not the only language your body can speak. That you will know more and can know more than a silent “no”. That your queerness will come to you, be let free from you and suddenly you will learn how to sing.

Dear teenage me, do not be afraid of jumping into what others have taught you to fear. Take the space and run, they will follow and love you and hold you. 

Dear teenage me, find a therapist

Dear teenage me, you will cry, you will cry often. You will be scared and feel powerless. Remember your power, remember your joy, do not let him take that from you.

Dear teenage me, you will find love, real love. But, dear teenage me, you do not need love, you don't need a person to hold you up, you can exist and live independently, freely, enthusiastically.