This Is Why They Hate Us

by Aaron H. Aceves

And he just said my name, so I should probably respond at some point. “Heyyyy,” I say. Words are hard.

It would be so much easier not to feel anything for anyone at all. The problem is I feel so much.

And now comes the feeling that only bisexual people are lucky enough to know the true horror of: wanting to make out with the person who’s stealing the person you also want to make out with.

Why does it hurt so much to see other people happy? Is it because happiness is my first love who never came back? Seeing her (because, let’s be honest, if we had to assign happiness a gender, it’d be female) shine in other people’s lives reminds me that she left me, and all I can do is wait and hope she’ll eventually find me worthy enough to be with again.

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, but I think she can tell because she smirks and says, “Never underestimate the power of a deep breath.”

“You’re drier than a lesbian watching Magic Mike!”

I’m not going to say I’m horny because it’s not only that. What I’m longing for right now, what I’m dying for, is a strong, undeniable connection. I want to be in love. And yes, I also want to physicalize that love in a series of reckless, diversely debauched ways.

But I do believe you can be prone to accepting harmful behavior if it satisfies the need you have for validation.”

It happened in a movie theater like this in Aurora. It happened to people like me and Fabiola in Orlando. It happened to people like Saleem in Christchurch. It happened to people like Molly in Atlanta. It happened to kids our age in Parkland. It happens.