Apparently, I missed Coming Out Day yesterday. Not too big a deal for me, I don't think, because not only have I done this for the last three (?) years, I think that anyone reading this journal has to have caught on my now that I'm a big ol' dyke, and the people who matter in my real life know as well. Even my coworkers will probably catch on pretty soon, because while I'm never one for big capital-D-Declarations of Gayness, I do tend to refer to (ex-)girlfriends and the like in conversations when it's relevant.
Half the time I don't even realise until I catch a little sideways glimpse that oops, right, that person probably didn't know that about me, yet. I certainly don't usually do it deliberately; it's just that my sexuality, while an inherent part of who I am, isn't something that's a Big Deal for me. I don't think it should be, not for me and not for other people, which is the concious part of why I don't really do Grand Declerations: the idea that if I don't make a big fuss out of it, neither will others, which suits me just fine.
That said (and I apologise to those who have this picture on their friendspage multiple times, but for once I'm not LJ-cutting an image):
THE ULTIMATE SILENCE
October 12, 1998

Six years ago today, Matthew Shepard was murdered for being homosexual.
What will you do to end the silence?
From:
no subject
I was sickened that such a thing could happen, but I never went through the emotional tie-in: that this guy was just another guy and he just happened to be gay and got killed for it. In my head it was more intellectual -- sort of a "those guys are sick and isn't that incredibly sad?" kind of thing -- but this is just... visceral. I'm very glad I don't live in Wyoming, and I've made it a part of my life that I won't live somewhere that people are violently anti-gay, but there are people who can't make that choice, and for those like Matthew... God, it's just so WRONG. And now I'm getting incoherent, but becoming more and more emotional about it.
He was just a kid. That's probably the saddest part.
Fuck.
From:
no subject
And then I read stories like Matthew Shepard's, or Brandon Teena's, or one of the people on my friendslist still living with their parents posts about something said parents said or did, and I realise how lucky I am. And then I want to call my parents and thank them for raising me in a way that ensured I never really had to struggle with my sexual orientation, and for making my coming-out to them pretty much a non-event, and to hug my brothers for never thinking twice about it--especially the youngest, who was twelve when I came out and in the middle of that typical "Eww, gay!" phase.
(Incoherency what?)