Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,
Over the years, I have thought of many things I would like to say to you. Some of them kind and full of love, some of hurt and some of anger. There are so many things that I don't even know where to begin. I suppose I'll start somewhere and go from there.

It hurt my feelings when you told me that I needed to give up my "whimsical attraction to other women." It isn't whimsy, Mom. I am genuinely attracted to other women in a sexual manner. I can't change who I am, and I'm not sure I would want to. I suppose in my mind I thought it would be easy for you to accept me. Uncle Dick, Aunt Janice, Aunt Becky and Uncle Kevin are all homosexual. The statistic in our family is 1 in 3 is homosexual. Somehow I thought that would make you more accepting of my own sexual proclivities. I suppose I shouldn't have assumed that just because we have that statistic that you would be accepting. After all, your grandmothers never came to terms with it either.

It hurts that you are gone so much lately. I feel like I never really get to see you or talk to you. And I feel like when we do hang out you are mad at me. I feel sometimes like you just use me to take care of Chris when you aren't there and that is both annoying and angering.

I'm mad that you stayed married to W. as long as you did. I suppose it's time to admit that. I know you kept clinging to the belief that God gave him to you and I know you keep saying I need to stop being mad at God for it. But if God gave W. to us and God is omnipotent, then God is cruel. He knew what W. was going to do long before he did it. He knew that he was going to starve Chris and beat us. He knew that W. was going to take advantage of you. He knew that W. was going to take advantage of me. He knew W. was going to try to turn Hannah against us. And that he would mostly succeed. But you stayed. And I know you loved him, I know you thought it was somehow God's plan.

I'm not angry that you couldn't defend us anymore. It wouldn't have mattered. W. was going to do what he would, regardless of your intervention. He would have just shamed us into not telling you anyway.

There were good times, though Mom. I do remember some of the good points. Like learning to play chess and trips to the Children's Museum. Learning about Sacajawea and Corrie Ten Boom and heroes of the Bible. There were fishing trips and moments where I felt really close to you. I feel closer to you now than I did then.

I was afraid to be close to you. I was afraid you would die, especially after your massive miscarriage. I was afraid that if I cared more than I already did you would die and I'd be all alone. Sometimes I still feel that way. I'm afraid to love you because I know it will hurt more than anything when you are gone. And we all go at some point or another. I couldn't stand to see you deteriorate the way Grandma Bobbi did. I just couldn't.

I still feel lingering guilt from some of the thoughts I had when I was younger. Thoughts that if you, Chris and Hannah all died that you would all be better off because things were so terrible for a while there. I felt like a terrible daughter and sister because I wanted you to be gone so that you wouldn't suffer. But at the same time I couldn't imagine losing you. And I was afraid to lose you. I'm still afraid to lose you.

You're my best friend, Mom. In spite of hurt feelings and anger and fear. In spite of all that, I can't imagine what it would be like to not have you. And I can't imagine not talking to you on the phone for silly reasons or going to O'Charley's all the time. Or sharing some of my random music with you.

I suppose all of this has just been supposition to say, I love you Mom. More than any other human being on this earth. More than I could ever fully express. And even though you have hurt my feelings and pissed me off, I wouldn't be the person I am today without you. And, most of the time, I'm pretty happy with the person I am. Bisexuality, hatred for God and religion, lack of forgiveness for W., currently divergent political views and all.

love,
Sarai

To the Edward Cullen in my life.

Dear Stephen,

Sometimes when I think about you I feel a bubble of the attraction and affection I had for you. Other times I wish I had succeeded in killing myself so that I wouldn't have to think about you anymore. That may seem very drastic, partially because it is. I should've never gone with you. I knew it was wrong from the beginning. I knew it wouldn't last.

I wanted to want you. I wanted you to want me. It was stupid and ridiculously impetuous of me.

Eight years my senior, a convicted child molester, on probation for said child molestation, divorced, need I go on? You were all kinds of wrong; for me and in general. You made me crazy though, crazy aroused and crazy "in love." I drew blood while we were broken up, because I couldn't take the explosion of feelings bursting out of me.

I listened to those dark lyrics in those Kelly Clarkson songs because they fit "us."

Can you believe it has been  seven years? Can you believe that I was willing to marry you?

Shall we start from the beginning of our "relationship?" Shall we discuss all the signs and warnings that I ignored?

Meeting you was the highlight of my month. I was on the verge of seventeen and so ready to fall in love. In truth, I had already fallen "in love" so many times I wasn't even sure what it meant anymore ("I'm hesitant to say I'm in love... How many times have I said that about other guys?" Journal entry May 30th, 2005). Here you are probably saying "We hadn't even met in May." Which is true, but you see my point. I was thinking that line of thought long before you and I met. Also, I have "conveniently" misplaced the journal that holds all my entries about you. Actually it is rather inconvenient, because I wish I could tell you all that I was thinking, better than I can right now. I'm rambling now.

I met you and you seemed so smart and practically perfect in every way. I adored your grandmother and your uncle. It seemed only natural that I adore you too. And you seemed so interested in me. You seemed to genuinely like me. Not just because of my overtly large bosoms or naivete. We talked and you said you could give me an orgasm from a foot massage (or was that later?).

I remember telling you that I didn't want to leave (church that is) because I had to go and see my grandparents and my grandmother hated me. I told you I was afraid she was going to say something cruel about my weight (which she usually did). I gave you an emotional opening. After I let you in that far, it was easy to let you in ever farther.

It wasn't even love, Stephen. I ran into your arms because I was missing someone else desperately. I was missing a guy friend that I could never admit to liking, even though I adored him. He was the reason I wrote that journal entry about love. You were my rebound in almost every sense of the phrase. It was infatuation and the desire to be in a relationship with someone I knew I shouldn't be.

You stalked me. You belittled me. You whistled for me, as though I were a dog, in front of my mother. You touched me inappropriately. And, worst of all, I let you. I let you touch me in places I knew I shouldn't be touched. I let you do things I shouldn't have. I let you get me tangled up in so many messes I thought I'd never escape.

I was addicted. I was addicted to your kiss, even though it tasted like cigarettes. I was addicted to your touch, even though it made me sick to my stomach. I was addicted to the attention you gave me. Or didn't give me, depending on your mood. I was addicted to the drama it caused when I was with you. Because everyone said it was a bad idea.

Did you know that the pastor's wife actually took me out to "discuss" you? She bought me lunch, took me on a drive and explained to me that you weren't the best idea for a boyfriend. She tried to be gentle and kind. It only made me rebel. It only made me want you more. Everything anyone said about you, I ignored. I pretended not to hear or, worse, defended you.

You made subtle threats and some not so subtle actions. Getting mixed up in the gang was the worst. I still freak out if a car is behind me for more than a block. I'm so glad we don't live where we used to. Having just gotten home from school and fixing an afternoon snack, seeing a random car at the end of the driveway, the windows tinted. Just sitting. They never came down the drive. Just sat there, watching the house. Always when you knew I'd be home alone. That was the worst part. The feeling of being unsafe and not being able to tell anyone because I was afraid of you.

Too much to contain in one letter to you, Stephen, so I suppose this is all for now.

I hope I never see you again.
Sarai

Dear God,

Dear God (specifically the God of the Christians),
As my darling girlfriend has said, you are one of the most genuinely unpleasant characters in all of written fiction. You're followers are some of the most hypocritical and some of the most foul individuals I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Not to mention the ones who are just plain batshit insane.

People murder in your name, you know. They use you as a convenient excuse for all their petty bullshit. They hide their actions behind your book. It's a funny thing really, because more than half of them have never read the thing all the way through.

I used to believe in you, you know. I wanted to be a minister. I used to take my bible out and I would preach to the trees. However, a woman shall not have dominion over man. I still have more of your word memorized than I would like (i.e. Matthew 4:4). At least it comes in handy when I'm pointing out the hypocrisy of your followers.

I used to be afraid of going to Hell. And I felt such massive guilt for my attraction to women and my burgeoning sexual affinities. Yes, Lord, I have sinned and fallen far short of the glory of you. That used to bother me. Though, to be brutally honest, I tried to be bothered by it more than I actually was. I haven't been "on fire" for you in a long time.

Mom says I need to forgive you and start talking to you again. She says you are good. I don't believe it. I don't believe in you at all any more.

Previously to this moment I used to believe that you existed in some fashion or other. Recent events however have made think otherwise. Though there are still good things that happen, making me wonder if you are behind it trying to lure me back. Like Obama winning the election. That made me wonder if you weren't real after all. Because I cried out louder than I ever have that he would win. To anything out there. Of course, if that is true, mayhaps it was Krishna or Ra answering my prayers.

Mom says I need to talk to you. She encouraged my desire to be Muslim because she believes you and Allah are the same being. Which I also agree with, for the most part. She tells me that I need to pour my heart out to you. I tell her that I don't believe in you. She refuses to believe in my disbelief. I suppose she has a right to that.

I have never felt more like an atheist than I do now. And I'm not sure if that is a good or bad thing. But I am dried up. I have felt this before. I know believing in you won't make a difference. It is just the way of things. I hate you, but I want to believe in you. Why is that?

Why do I care?

Because the little girl I was survived Hell and wants to believe it was for a reason. I want to believe I have come this far for a purpose and not because you enjoyed toying with me or because you didn't exist at all. I want to believe it was all for a better world. When in reality, I think it was because the world is sick. And I wish I could be like the girl in my favorite series and destroy the swollen and rotting portions of this world, save it from itself. I can't. I can't save the world. And you have left me with this gaping hole where my heart should be.

I tried to give it to you. It wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough. I tried to be perfect. I couldn't shake the desire to be a man. The longing to be with a woman sexually. I couldn't deny those feelings and I couldn't deny the love I had for things that were not of "you." Maybe I have been led astray. Maybe I have been wrong. But I tried. I tried, God. I tried to be a good and faithful servant. And I give up. I'm tired of fighting who I am because I am scared of some being that may or may not exist.

If you can't love me for who I am, for who YOU created me to be, how will I ever survive?

Dear A,

Dear A,
I'm afraid to send you my stories.
I'm worried that you won't like me once you actually read all that is inside my head. And I know I shouldn't put that much stock in other people's opinions of my work, of me, but I do. So if I seem shy about sending you things that is why.
I felt like a little honesty. A little randomness because you have no clue where this is coming from, but I can't help it because it is something that has been pestering me since I sent you my other story "The Ring of Roses" back in February.
I don't know why I sent you my blog. It has so much more truth than I feel comfortable with you reading, but I wasn't thinking. I did it. And it has been bothering me because I care about you and I don't want you to read my stuff because I want you to still care about me.
I'm afraid you will find me a monster and run from me. Run because I have so much darkness swirling about in my head.
I'm afraid that you will realize my feelings for you, feelings that neither of us can follow because I am married (and I love him, I do) and you are so far away, not just in physical distance. You are so much smarter and wonderful. Too wonderful. And I have self-esteem issues. Issues that have become debilitating because I keep pushing myself out there. Pushing because I want to live beyond myself and because that is something you admire about me. I'm not used to being admired. I'm not used to the attention you have given me before. And it scares me, but I want it. I want you to like me. I want you to admire me. I want you to love me.
Damn it. I want more from you than I have any right to, but I need it too. And when you tease me and say "come visit" you have no idea how I soar on that, how much it makes my world brighten and then darken.

A Birthday Letter

To my darling dearest baby sister whom I love and adore,
Tomorrow, at 1 in the afternoon you will be officially 17.
17 years ago you came into this world, the baby sister I always wanted. The one who kicked the palm of my hand whilst still in utero. The one who I would always find hiding inside the bottom cabinet with her baby dolls and her Shirley Temple curls.
And, 17 years later, you are still the little sister I absolutely love.
I can't believe you, my baby, are turning 17. It is both sweet and bitter. I miss you. I miss you being small enough for me to carry around and swing up above my head so that you could touch the sky. I miss you being with me all the time, even when you would annoy me. I miss talking to you about randomness. I even miss our petty disagreements.
I remember when you first started walking. I used to taste your baby food before I would feed it to you, because I wanted you to have the best. I used to change your diapers and give you baths. I used to read you books and chase you across the yard. And I know we can't do any of that anymore, you being 17 now, I still miss those days.
I am excited to see the young woman you are growing up to be. The one who isn't afraid to speak her mind, even though sometimes she should think first (it's a love!). The one who is a good friend. The one who is so beautiful. The one who is well read and has interesting musical tastes. I can't wait for you to enjoy your 17th year of life and I hope it is one of the best ever.
I love you darling.
Happy Birthday.
love, Me.

Bisexual Bias

This is my response to an article written by a student at Indiana University. You can read the article for yourself at:
http://www.idsnews.com/news/story.aspx?id=90666

Dear Sir,
In regards to your article "Bisexual bias" in the IDS, I would like to say a few things.

"I’ve had a saying for a few years now. Bisexuals are like unicorns. You really want them to exist. But they just don’t."
1. Comparing a bisexual person to unicorns is mostly, if not entirely, ridiculous.
There are many cases in which unicorns can have existed, thus leading one to believe that you are saying bisexual homo sapiens do, in fact, exist.

Examples: If we were to go completely old school Biblical on the matter, if you are one who believes in the Bible, you would find there are several verses involving the unicorn. This might lead one to believe that you were saying that bisexuals at one time existed, but don't any longer. For your in-depth research (which I am sure you did for your article) verses involving unicorns can be found in the KJV Bible, said verses being: Numbers 23:22, Job 39:9, Psalms 29:6, Job 39:10, Numbers 24:8 and Psalms 92:10.

Or, if you don't believe in the Bible, we can look at the Narwhal, oft considered the Unicorn of the Sea or any other animal with one horn.
   *The word "unicorn" stems from early 13th century Old French "unicorne" and from Late Latin "unicornus" meaning, quite literally, "having one horn." Uni- meaning "one" plus cornus meaning "horn." If we go with this, that means that anything having one horn is considered a unicorn, making them quite real in the etymological sense of the word.

I'm sure, however, that you meant them in the purely fairy tale sense of the word, being a horse with a lion's tail, a single horn protruding from its head and a billy goat's beard (or, if you prefer, Pliny's version: a creature with a horse's body, deer's head, elephant's feet, lion's tail, and one black horn two cubits long projecting from its forehead). Or maybe you meant it in the allegorical sense, which was used as a tool by the Christians to teach morals. Such morals being that a Unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin (virgin in almost any sense of that word), the Unicorn being Christ in certain tales. And dire consequences for those who pretended to be virgin as they were skewered on the horn of the beast. That doesn't seem to fit quite as neatly as your original simile, but if we're talking of backwards philosophies it seems to fit quite nicely.

"It’s very difficult in our society to believe in something as free-spirited as bisexuality."
2. It also seems very difficult, in our society, to believe in Love and Marriage being uninhibited by things such as age, sexual preferences, gender, race, religion, etc. Love is apparently tethered to concrete ideas and laws. "Free-spirited" makes it sound as though it is a childish thing. Sexuality isn't an idea that we follow, like the Flower Power movement. Sexuality is not Hippies in the summer of '69. It is a deep and personal thing, grounded in one's sense of self. It is something we all find inside of ourselves. It is longing to be with another person in the most intimate way, sharing bodies and things that no one wants to talk about because they are "shameful."  And that longing is not restrained by your narrow view of the world.

"it’s threatening. For heterosexuals and homosexuals, we have to contend with only being attracted to half of the population. Those odds aren’t terrific. For someone who’s bisexual, the world is their genital oyster. It’s actually a very picturesque image. Men, women, who cares? I’m attracted to everyone."
3. I don't understand this part at all. You say it is threatening, bisexuality that is, but don't explain how it is threatening. How does bisexuality threaten your sexuality in any way? Truly, I'm curious. Explain to me, without Biblical or personal biases, how Bisexuality is threatening in any way, shape or form. You then say that the world is a "genital oyster." That is, not only, a vile pictorial image, but also shows just how little you understand about sexuality in general.

Yes, sexuality does, often involve, genitalia. However, there is so much more to sexuality than just sex. Sexuality is a strong basic instinct, a need, a desire, an attraction. It involves emotions and physical sensations. It can be impacted by the atmosphere one grows up in. It will never leave you. It is a key part of one's identity.

You make it sound almost as if sex meant nothing except, simply, getting one's rocks off. As if a bisexual is a selfish or greedy being for being attracted to more than one sex. Bisexuality is an attraction to either gender, that is true. But often the attraction is deeper than sexual. One can be attracted to anyone; beyond their gender, religion, sexual preferences, age, race, cultural background, etc. And what one finds sexually attractive doesn't even have to be human. There are those who are sexually attracted a person's mind or even inanimate objects. Wherever humans are involved there is no strict definition for sexuality. No strict definition for anything. We are more than the limits placed on us by other, simpler, creatures.

You say that "Those odds aren't terrific" when speaking of being "only" attracted to half of the population. Being attracted to only a man or only a woman isn't terrible. The odds are fine. In fact, when did odds even enter the picture? You make it sound like a race. As if we are all in a race with one another to see who is more attracted to who. It isn't a race. It isn't a game. There are no "odds." There are only people. People who love and hate, create and destroy, write good articles and shitty ones.

"Now, I am not bisexual."
4. Clearly.

"I also can’t assert assurance on things like Bigfoot, John F. Kennedy’s assassination or the contention of Jesus’ divinity."
5. I cannot say, with certainty that Bigfoot does or does not exist. JFK was, in fact, assassinated, though by whom is still up for debate. And whilst Jesus did exist, I cannot say with certainty that he was divine. However, I also can't say with certainty when we will die. I can't say that Coca Cola is the superior of all carbonated beverages. Nothing in this life is particularly certain. Truth is defined by who is looking at it, not by what it actually is.

"The real issue has to do with the male psyche and sexuality."
6. Yes, yes it does. At last, something we agree on! It DOES have to do with the Male psyche and sexuality. Men are generally insecure about their sexuality, no matter their preferences. Everything about sex makes one insecure. The length and width of his organ, whether he is doing well, how quickly he can reach orgasm, etc. Men are generally quite insecure with anything having to do with their own emotions and their being as well. I have yet to meet a man who is completely secure with being emotionally honest. Does that mean that he doesn't exist somewhere? Does that mean I am going to have to start writing wildly inaccurate articles on male emotions?

"The same notion just doesn’t extend to heterosexual women. You’d be hard pressed to find a straight woman finding the same sexual stimulation from watching two men go at it."
7. You, sir, clearly have never met a woman willing to talk about being aroused by two men "going at it" as you so delicately put it. I myself enjoy watching two men fornicate, kiss, etc. I find it arousing when a man kisses another man. The funny thing is that you would be "hard pressed" to find a straight woman who is NOT aroused by two men having sexual intercourse. There are numerous articles you can find about straight female arousal whilst watching male on male pornography, but I'm assuming you didn't actually try to find any. Your whole article suggests a lack of study on the topic at hand.

To quote a poster on one of the response brought up by my searches: "What I find hilarious, is that so many straight men assume that women don't find it erotic, just because THEY [men] don't."

"But after years of men grind stoning women’s sexuality to the fine powder it is today, why should anyone be the wiser? Two women going at it? Crack a beer and enjoy. Two men going at it? Ultimate party foul. It’s typically pretty hard to party once the gay bomb drops."
8. I don't understand that first sentence at all. "But after years of men grind stoning women's sexuality to the fine powder it is today," what does that even mean? Did you even edit this before posting it to such a public forum? And what do you mean by "grind stoning women's sexuality"?

Two women are having sex with one another and this is suddenly a party? Do men do that? They all get together and watch lesbian porn whilst drinking beer? Someone puts in a gay porno and then all bets are off? "Gay bomb?" Truly, your word choice is ridiculously childish.

"I can’t begin to believe in bisexuality in a society where men’s sexuality isn’t nearly as fluid as women’s."
9. The problem with men's sexuality being fluid has nothing to do with whether or not bisexuality exists, but lies (once again) with the male psyche. Men seem to have this preconceived notion that it is unacceptable for them to be bisexual. Out of all the homosexual and heterosexual men I have met it comes down to this idea that they have to choose. That there is no "this" and "that." It is all "this" OR "that." It astounds me, actually, the number of men who find some other men attractive, but won't do anything with that attraction because they also find women attractive. That is definitely a problem with today's society, you are correct on that part. Society says it is totally wrong to think or exist outside of the sexuality box it has created for us.

"Recently in Hollywood, loads of successful women have come out as bisexual."
10. Hollywood is DEFINITELY a good place to look for reality and facts. Plenty of people will say whatever it takes to become famous or to have the spotlight shine a bit brighter on them. That doesn't make it fact.

"But the future may be bright. Frank Ocean is one example of a successful man who’s admitted to having a relationship with a man."
11. I find it sad that the final breath of your article is a sarcastic, and pithy, "Men in the limelight aren't bisexual so no one can be bisexual."

I am a bisexual woman. I am proud of my sexuality and who I am as a person. I have a loving husband and a wonderful girlfriend. I can't imagine going through my life without either of them. There is more to my being attracted to them than their gender. More to my love for them than their genitalia. Its people like yourself, that raise the banners of prejudice and bias against what you don't understand and don't bother to understand.

sincerely,
Sarai.