I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.