I wanted to tell my brother what I do, and I haven’t. I thought that would feel like failure, because of all the good reasons why I should being smothered by fear, but actually, having hung out with him for a night and a morning, I’m relatively at peace with this choice.
With friends, I do feel like ‘coming out’ structures my relationships to some degree – y’know, there’s two categories of friends – which I hate, but I hear a rumour that a girl’s gotta keep safe – but I also feel like there’s kinds of love that transcend do-they-don’t-they know-ness, and actually, yeah, I will tell my brother at some point, but I don’t need to hate myself for not doing so now, or even conceptualise of time spent together as time in which I didn’t (read: failed to) share this thing, coz y’know. Hanging out with my brother feels like coming home, except without all the ambivalences and guilt that frequently lurk in the corners of my actual home. So that’s okay.