Cydney Yeates opens up about struggling with her sexuality
Coming out is never-ending and I frequently wish I wasn’t gay so I didn’t have to keep saying I am. I know that most of the time it’s avoidable, but when someone flat out asks what your type is, or if there are any boys on the scene, there’s not much you can do – unless, of course, you lie. I don’t think I can recall a single situation where I’ve not felt awkward saying it and for some reason these predominantly short conversations always and without a doubt feel like they’re taking place in slow-mo. You know when you’re racing to get somewhere because you’re running late, but you’re trapped by a row of dawdlers who quite frankly put more effort into being slow than having a normal stride and there’s nothing for you to do except swear under your breath, but just loud enough for them to hear you? It’s almost like that, but you’re naked as well. Basically, I’d pay a large sum of money for a real-life fast-forward toggle from the Sims so I could speed through the whole God damn thing.
Before I came out I used to cry myself to sleep nights on end. I really didn’t want it to be true and I was in denial. Being in the closet was a living nightmare. I was 20 and I thought I knew myself, but I didn’t know myself at all – not even in the slightest – and it was a terrifyingly scary place to be. For years, I desperately tried to convince myself I wasn’t into women. I forced myself into doing things I shouldn’t have, despite knowing for a while there was a pretty substantial missing piece to the puzzle, in the hope that I’d somehow fool myself, or that some divine intervention would save me and everything would go back to how it was; that I’d wake up one morning, the sky would be blue, the grass would be green and I would be straight. I really did believe that if I ignored the elephant in the room then it would good away. Spoiler alert, it didn’t.
Meeting fellow lezzas is extremely difficult, especially when queer events are far and few between. Even when they do crop up, who’s to say that anxiety wont kick in and physically take over your whole body, stopping you from delving headfirst into finally finding your people? My inner circle is pretty much made up of straight women, with a sprinkling of gay men. Whilst every single one of them is fabulous in their own way and I’m forever grateful for them forever lending their ears and trying to understand my experiences, they don’t and won’t ever live them. And as much as this pains me to say, I feel fucking lonely for it. A temporary solution is completely submerge yourself in lesbian/bisexual content: go listen to queer podcasts, read gay blogs, and magazines, find the TV shows with representation, and bury yourself in other people’s stories, or even write your own. Just do something, anything to bridge that gap to know that you’re not completely alone.
​
Opinions expressed by contributors do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors of DIVA magazine or its publishers.
Only reading DIVA online? You're missing out. For more news, reviews and commentary, check out the latest issue. It's pretty badass, if we do say so ourselves.
divadigital.co.uk // divadirect.co.uk // divasub.co.uk