It took me a while to work out why I’m bad at writing queer experiences. After all, I’m bi. I qualify as queer. I am the B in LGBTQ. I should be farting rainbows and sneezing glitter and flying the flag as well as the rest of them, and perhaps the fact that I’m not is evidence of some kind of failure to be properly queer. That’s the feeling I’ve always had.

But it turns out I’m bad at writing queer experiences because, until recently, my experience of being bisexual has been erasure.