So when I tell people that I’m asexual, aside from having to clarify that it DOES NOT MEAN:
- that I can reproduce by budding or mitosis
- that I am a hermaphrodite
- that I am a virgin (buahahaha)
- that I am waiting for marriage (oh… oh no…)
- that I just haven’t found the right person
- that I am a closet lesbian
- that I have been sexually abused
- that I am a prude
- that I am unable to identify aesthetically appealing people
- that I am sexually attracted to objects
- that I have a hormonal or chemical problem medicine can fix
- that I just made up a term to make myself sound special
Aside from that, the next question that comes is whether I can be, or want to be in a relationship. The answer has always been yes, because I always envisioned myself finding someone, and we would adopt a couple kids, have some dogs, and live happily ever after into the sunset. Recently, though, I’ve realized that maybe I’m wrong? I mean I still might want to adopt some kids, and I’m always going to have dogs, and my sunset is going to be lovely shades of black, grey, white, and purple… but recently I’ve noticed that I just don’t feel romantically attracted to people. And that’s WEIRD for me.
Whenever I talk about my past, I like to limit it to the past 5 years… because who the fuck was I before that was a totally different human being that I would totally not even be friends with, at this point… So, starting at 21: I dragged through the end of a shitty relationship and broke up with Mike, because he was a shithead stoner that ruined part of my house and endangered my life. Then I dated Grant, who was very nice and conformed to my warped perspective of romance, relationships, and didn’t have a problem maintaining a sense of distance. Even though we had sex, he was never pushy about it, noticed that I didn’t like PDAs, and even kissed in a reserved manner (I really hate use of tongue). He was good with it. He was ready to accept it all for the sake of a potential future, and I just… got… bored… No. That’s a bad explanation. I just wasn’t obsessed with him anymore is what happened.
So then I went back. Back back back to the beginning of my relationships. I skip the first because it was literally nothing interesting. I think we kissed once… then, moving forward, we have:
- the guy I dated out of pity
- the guy that was suicidal and a mild cross-dresser
- the older friend of the pity bf
- the virgin
- the pagan boy
- the adopted kid that told me I’m pretty when I cry and had a history of drug use (that bubbled back up)
- the alcoholic
- the recovered druggie fresh out of rehab (Mike)
These aren’t things I found out LATER. These are things I knew UPFRONT and found terribly fascinating. Why? Because they were things I couldn’t figure out. I dated a guy out of pity because my friend liked to torture him, and I couldn’t determine why torturing him was fun… I get it now. Suicide is always fascinating… why did he feel like that? What would make someone want to shoot themselves in the stomach so they can feel themselves die? Older men were kind of fascinating. They had an interest in me, and I assumed that dating them would be a unique experience, that they could bring something more to the table… but no, not really. I didn’t understand people that held onto their virginity, since I lost mine at 13, so that was an experience. Paganism was always fun to me, but this guy was more interesting because his family was full of strangeness… mental illness kinds of strangeness. Then, I’d never met someone that could take the worst situations in life and see some kind of brilliant painting behind them, or why the adopted kids I knew always seemed so messed up when their families were so nice. I never understood alcohol and drug dependence, or how it could actually tear lives apart. I never realized, until then, that it can literally change someone (it was always like watching a werewolf transformation). I wanted to see someone change and become a new person after the alcoholic, so I thought this would be fun, but all I really wanted to do was tempt the recovered druggie…
None of those things describe love. I don’t look back on any of these things and feel a heart string tug. I look back and see an obsession that got resolved when I got to the bottom of the fascination. What is that? Is there a term for that?
So, I dunno. Maybe I am aro. Maybe I’m just not good at relationships, but not aro.
I don’t know, but it’s given me something new to think about… which I guess is good… thinking is good… but I’m not always sure that constantly questioning my identity is…