Edit 12 Nov. 2017: This post is outdated, in that I don’t identify as asexual. The orientation didn’t fit me, because I was battling another aspect of myself, and took my disinterest and lack of romantic attraction to guys as me being asexual. Truth is, I’m gay. #PLOTTWIST
There was a boy[1. Saying “guy” didn’t have as much charm to it.] in 2014.
He made me realize a lot of things about myself and what I want in life, in a guy, and in myself.
I became obsessed with the idea of becoming his girlfriend, and whilst I’m not completely into astrology, I do feel like sometimes it might be right. I’m an Aries, he’s a Taurus. An Aries woman and Taurus man is a complicated relationship, and the gist of it is that the Taurus could very well be the Aries’ undoing.
And that he was.
In June, I finally agreed to hang out with him. It wasn’t a date, but I think he thought it was, especially since he called it such a few times thereafter. We saw the latest Godzilla movie, and it was pretty good, I guess, but blah. I don’t like a lot of physical contact. It was supposed to be us hanging out as friends. At first, I felt as if I might be demisexual, but I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t voice it to anyone but an extremely close friend. He wanted to hold hands, but I so obviously didn’t.
Later, he wanted me to meet his friends. It might have been around July or so, I’m not sure. I didn’t care to go out drinking or be all couple-y, because the most I knew about him was that he loves Texas and never wants to leave, loves country music, is confused by homonyms, and liked me. He knew about my MDD and PTSD and Aspieness, but I don’t think he understood…
And he wanted to kiss me. This was made very known. And I? As the text messages increased, shirtless photos began to surface and more requests were made, I found myself trapped in this box of a guy who had made assumptions about who I was as a person, likely from how he thought all women were expected to be, and I hated it. I hated that he thought he knew me well when he didn’t know me at all. I hated how he sent me shirtless photos, because I don’t enjoy seeing people I know without clothes. A shirtless Zac Efron is great, but a shirtless guy I know in reality isn’t. Homonyms are confusing, but I pride myself in using great grammar as much as I can and where I can and hate abbreviating in text messages. Many times I wanted to reply, “What about my cute?” in response to his “Your cute” text message.
And he wanted to kiss me. And he wanted me to come over and spend the night. And I? I didn’t want any of that. I was instantly turned off. And I felt like maybe I wasn’t good enough, because he wanted and expected all these things so many people in relationships want and expect from people, and I couldn’t give him any of that. When asked, “Wait, do you not like kissing?” in a judgmental-like circumstance, what the hell am I supposed to say? “I want to wait”, short for “I don’t want to do it because it’s weird, so I want to wait until I absolutely feel comfortable”, doesn’t seem to fit as a viable answer in a world where most people seem to want to have sex.
These are the days of those stupid pictures and statuses floating around Facebook that contain something along the lines of how people need to find someone who’s into PDA, because if they’re not, they obviously don’t truly care. Rather than play tonsil hockey with someone and not know when the hell I’m supposed to breathe, I’d rather cuddle someone so hard — and that’s it.
When Papa died, everything was so different, much like it was when Mama Lois passed away. I wanted and needed space, but I also needed someone I could trust and who understood me that could help me process this loss, because I was kind of lost. All around me were people crying and sad and reminiscing about him, and I didn’t want to be around that for the same reason I cannot bear to watch the news: I am like a sponge, absorbing everyone’s emotions and feeling them completely.[2. I think this factor contributed to my major depression that caused me to burst in 2012.]
Knowing what I want has become a powerful tool that I use for myself. In that much needed space, I eventually stopped text messaging that guy altogether, which I do feel slightly horrible for, but believe it was for the best. I lost sight of who I was and wanted to be and what I wanted to do because I found myself wrapped up in what someone else wanted and expected of me. I became unhappy and annoyed because this person didn’t truly understand me or who I was or what I found to be important.
For example, he didn’t know what HTML/CSS/PHP stood for or what it was, even after I told him multiple times. After a while, it became this thing that ate at me, because I need someone who gets me, and in order to fully understand me, that someone needs to understand what exactly I do.
I need to carry on a conversation with them. I need them to keep me focused, not try to pull me away from what I’m doing and try to convince me that partying/staying out all night is more important. Yes, if I want a night off and to waste the night away, I don’t mind going out and bowling until after midnight, like I did with Bri in 2013.
That guy and I were two totally different pieces colliding and causing a crash. I got lost and panicked, so I pretended to be something I wasn’t again. I was judged for the way I eat/what I do due to my allergies and eating disorder. For the record, the reason I get so happy about a salad is because I’m allergic to everything in it: salad dressing (vinegar (yeast-forming), probably yeast, dairy/lactose), lettuce (mold), cheese (dairy/lactose, mold), chicken (leftover, thus mold-forming, or from a can, thus preserved)… I shred fresh carrots, so that’s probably okay, but meh. What’s more, what the hell is so wrong about having a salad? Can I not have that without someone implying that something must be wrong?
Is it really the end of the world if I don’t want something to drink or to have popcorn to snack on whilst watching the movie? Movie popcorn is great and all, but considering I had it nonstop for the previous week, I’m not interested in indulging in any more popcorn.[3. And for the record, the popcorn I get is mostly allergy-free, which is a good thing for me.]
I became okay with not wanting these things. I was tired of pretending. I am tired of pretending. I’m a grey-A, and I’m okay with that. I still like men, and I want to eventually get married, but I probably won’t have sex in my life unless under dire desire, and I want to adopt children, because I don’t want to personally experience the birthing process.
But I’m pretty sure, and I am really tired of people having this black-and-white thinking about relationships and truly believing/thinking/feeling/etc. that one day I’ll “grow out of it” and change my mind.
This is me, and I’m not ashamed. I’m sick of feeling like I should be ashamed just because I truly feel a certain way.
Also, coming out is terribly difficult and gives me an uncanny feeling, so if you could just refrain from being disrespectful, that would be great. I’ve dropped hints in the past, and I joke about it (it has created great laughs in the past). I’m just tired of being terrified of people finding out, but I’m also tired of it being some sort of a secret.
This post was inspired by Georgie’s post on what she wants.
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