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about my sexuality and my relationship

I've titled this story "Beyond Labels" because that's what I'm trying to be – beyond the need for a perfect category, beyond the expectations of others. When I was 17 to early 20s, I began questioning my sexuality. I'd noticed signs – the guys I crushed on, the way I never quite fit in. But I never connected the dots. To me, it was just part of who I am, like having brown eyes or loving pizza. I didn't label it, I didn't stress about it. It simply existed.

At 13, I had a crush on Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I'd plastered my bedroom wall with his posters, and my brother would tease me, saying I was gay. The idea never occurred to me. I was a sensitive kid with a tender heart, unable to bear watching others suffer. If a movie showed someone crying and in pain, I'd start sobbing.

I sometimes found girls attractive, but I assumed I'd date them. It was what I saw in movies, in books, in the world around me. I never managed to get a girlfriend, either because I didn't try or because they weren't interested. I remember using AOL and dial-up to try online dating – I feel ancient! (Older guys might say, "Please, shut up!")

In high school, I briefly wondered if I was meant to be a girl. I didn't get sports, even when I tried wrestling. The other students were awful, and I had no friends. I wasn't energetic or loud like the boys. I preferred reading or acting – being on stage made me happy. But I was severely depressed, a feeling that's lingered for years.

I started using dating sites, identifying as bisexual. I wasn't straight, but I'd never seriously considered my sexuality. As I felt more drawn to men, I focused on meeting them. It was like a part of me was finally waking up, finally looking for what felt right.

That's how I met Kyle, a trans man. We bonded over shared loves of reading, cats, and travel. When he revealed he was trans, I decided it was okay. Maybe I was desperate, maybe I was open-minded, but I felt we could really love each other. I wanted to try, to see where things went.

I moved to Seattle, and we spent seven years together. It wasn't perfect – what relationship is? We had our ups and downs, our fights and makeups. But we tried. I learned a lot about Kyle, about Seattle, and about myself. But I was the only one working, taking care of the apartment, and supporting him due to his chronic pain. I felt like a caretaker more than a partner.

Things fell apart, and my parents helped us move to Arizona. We got a car and I got a pharmacy tech job, but I lost it when my contract ended. I was jobless, on the verge of losing everything, and so depressed I ended up in a psychiatric hospital. I felt like such a failure.

The relationship was beyond strained, and I had to leave. It was the hardest decision I've ever made. Kyle passed away on May 14, 2022, the day before my birthday. I never got to say goodbye, to hold his hand, to tell him I loved him. That regret will always haunt me.

Now I'm trying to date again. Having had a relationship with a trans man, I prefer men, but I'm not opposed to trans people. I identify as gay, but I acknowledge that I've had bisexual feelings. It's just my preference, what feels right for me. As I see it, no one is entitled to a relationship. The self-ID "trans" folks demanding relationships aren't owed one. Gay men don't want women, and vice versa. We all get to choose who resonates with us. That's why I've titled this "Beyond Labels" – because I'm trying to be beyond the need for perfection, beyond the expectations of others. I just want to be me, to find someone who loves me for me.

I think about Kyle every day. the memory of him is always with me, a bittersweet reminder of what we had, of what I lost. I hope I can find that again, that I can learn to love myself and someone else.

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