I've been out to my family since 1997, and they are a wonderfully supportive and loving Jewish family. I identify with my sexuality in two ways: Bisexual and Queer. I say there's a dichotomy because while I officially can be categorized as a bisexual person because I have attraction to both men and womyn, I do realize that (1) being queer means I'm not a heterosexual, and (2) although I'm a person who is bisexual, I do gravitate towards men more often and (3) I feel better connected with GLBT community and not just the bisexual community when I understand that we're all queer. When I'm asked what I identify as, I say 'bisexual.' But when I refer to myself, I prefer 'queer.'

Originally, I came to the Advocates for Youth and YouthResource web pages for information to help myself understand my sexuality. After I understood who I am and was comfortable being myself, I knew I wanted to help other people my age to make their coming out just a bit easier.

Coming out to myself was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The strange part is that once I knew, it was so much easier telling my close friends and family. I'm lucky - I have a wonderful safety net. I felt 5,000,000,000% better once I told my friends who I was. What's more - I'm glad I found out! I truly believe that friends are the most important links in the chain of life - and the strongest anchor in coming out. Without strong links, how can you lift the weight from your back?

My "de-closet-ing" experience started in the middle of 1997. One evening, during a summer program, a speaker on safer sex and AIDS awareness presented his story. By the middle of his speech, he informed the 200 of us of three important facts about himself: (1) his name is Scott Freid, (2) he is homosexual, and (3) he has AIDS.

I was confused and scared of Scott's speech. He talked about how he felt growing up as a Jewish teenager [JUST LIKE ME], how he was constantly looking for approval [JUST LIKE ME], and that he struggled with his sexuality [JUST LIKE ME] and how he had contracted AIDS [NOT LIKE ME]. Except for that last large detail, Scott's adolescence sounded too much like my own. That scared me. A LOT. I was shuddering and crying at the end of his monologue. The audience stood and cheered for him. I on the other hand, couldn't move. The drama queen in me decided she needed some time to herself - in public, mind you - and thrust me into the throes of self realization. I became sick to my stomach babbling, "He's me … I'm him … Oh G-d … this means … I … I … I don't think I can take this . . . wait! I can't breathe!"

I became so upset by these thoughts that I could not speak out loud, stand, walk, or even breathe. Thankfully, my friends Dan, Farrah, and Lynn walked me outside, put tissue after tissue of Kleenex to my nose and stood by me. Lynn, who apparently majored in telepathy, translated my head-nodding, went back into the room and asked Scott if he would come outside and talk to me. Very soon, there was little gay-as-Prada-shoes-are-expensive Scott Fried. That was the first time I'd consciously been that close to a gay person in my life. He crouched in front of me, asking me a few easy questions (of which I actually found the strength to answer). He thought for a moment and then answered, smiling like I'd asked him a very easy answer: "Congratulations, Nurí! You're gay! (He was wrong, I'm Bi, but close enough for a first try.) Oh, and by the way, BREATHE! You need to remember to do that." So I breathed. Scott hugged me. He told me very sage advice, which I pass on to you: "Once you are happy with yourself because you aren't hiding, you'll never be happier. I'm gay, and I've never been happier in my entire life. Hiding is unhealthy for your soul." Now, I don't know if Chicken Soup for the Queer Soul is out in stores or not, but if it isn't, they need to put that on the back cover or something. Later, after Scott drove off to his home in New York, Lynn and I spent the next two hours talking on bleachers munching on greasy, overly salted, yummy potato chips and talking about homosexuality. We talked about what it meant to be queer; how she didn't care what I was because it was who I was that mattered to her - and to everyone who loves me.

Back at home, a few months later, I told my parents. My dad thought for a moment and said to me, "Well, aside from knowing this was going to happen about 17 years ago … after you've told me this, you're still the same person you were five minutes ago, with the same soul, the same mind, and the same heart. I love you no matter who you want to be."

Here's my moral of the story: I've always known who I wasn't and where I'm going - that's about it. I had been an extremist. I wasn't happy being a raging 100% heterosexual and faking it made me unhappy; nor was I comfortable being a flaming 100% homosexual. Neither option fit me. Then I realized: If the road you're traveling splits in two, take the third route. I now understand that I must balance my attitude and realize that my orientation can't be so restrictive in matters of the heart. Face it, kiddo: you're bisexual. You're not gay. You're not straight. You're queer.

Here's a freebie quote for you to put in your quote books, boys and girls. I coined this one myself, just for this web page -which means just for you! "I don't have a road map on my highway of life, but I know where I've been. That's all that really matters to me."

It's difficult being yourself. But it's even more difficult not being you. I'm glad you had the chance to read this. That makes me smile.

Ahava (love),

Nuri