When I was 15, I decided to tell my best friend Sean I was bisexual. I had never told anyone previously; no parents, family, friends, or peers. I had never even hinted at the chance of my being anything but heterosexual. Honestly, I wasn’t even fully sure of my being bisexual. I had deemed it a phase for a long time until it appeared much to long a phase to simply pass by. But one day, after receiving a note from Sean during a quick meeting in a hallway, I decided it was about time I face the music and realize my sexuality was not an issue that would disappear within the next summer or even graduation. It would stick, and I needed to tell someone. Sean was the one I decided to tell.

In a stark contrast to freshman year, Sean and I had no common classes as sophomores. We had become so close during that past year I considered her one of my best friends and probably the easiest person to talk to I knew. She was the first girl I talked to about my parents and about my fears on the future. We had one friend in common who was bisexual like me and she always mentioned her one other friend who was dealing with his own coming out. She was obviously OK with those who weren’t necessarily straight and I was proud of her for that. Although I didn’t get much time to see her now, I was always comfortable around her and owed her so much.

I hadn’t originally planned on telling Sean about my revelation of my sexuality when she handed me the hand-written note. She had questioned how my life without her was going in the letter. I began with describing to her hectic schoolwork and vexing parents. It was not until I reflected on what was truly troubling me the most within my head I considered revealing my secret. I had recently become aware in my own sway of sexual orientation from straight to bisexual. I hadn’t dared tell a soul; I was too afraid of the rejection and un-welcomed reactions of my peers to consider “coming out”.

Despite my prior distress, Sean was still the friend I had always talked to; the one I knew for certain would not reject my decision and me. I wrote multiple letters incorporating my sexual orientation over the course or the unusual three-day weekend, which separated our soon-to-be-encounter at school. The first reply I wrote with minimal address to my bisexuality, the second a revision of the first with slightly more discussion of the unvoiced fact. The copious amount of time left to rumination over the weekend was overwhelming and I threw both copies out. “I can’t do it. I just can’t-“ I reasoned in my head. The pressure to be accepted in society and conform to my current public perception engulfed my tiny shred of courage.

More and more though, my thoughts were consumed with assessments of my sexuality. I wanted to tell Sean. I wanted at least one being to know about that huge chunk of information as to get some validation and piece of mind it wasn’t just a silly episode of a hormone-ravaged teenager I was experiencing. I felt deep in my heart that what I detected was not fake. I was bisexual and there was only one way to feel like the relatively happy girl I had been before, without this secret declaration driving me insane.

So on Sunday night, I sat down and wrote one final time my letter to Sean. On Monday I gave her the note along with the greatest hug I had to give. She was my best friend and would never judge me. And even if she did, I still had reached the moment of clarity I so desperately needed to overcome. I was bisexual. I might be called “dyke” or “queer” but it’s what I was and who I wanted to be. I don’t know if Sean ever realized just how much she affected my life, but she did in a way few people can attempt to claim and I’ll always be thankful.