Hello, readers! How are you all? Well, I hope!
I’m here again today to blabber on about things you probably don’t care all that much about. But hey, gotta keep the blog updated, so you know. Things must be posted.
You see, I could regale you all with tales of how I have managed to burn some hair off my arm today while I was cooking lunch because I’m obviously not a responsible adult, but I won’t. Apart from the burning hair smell that lingered in my kitchen for a while, the incident didn’t cause any harm, so let us move on to the actual theme of this post.
Sexuality. That’s a theme that pops up here and there on the blog, mostly when someone asks me something about it – either my own sexuality or sexuality in general. So, since I was grilled by my own mother about my sexuality earlier this week, here we are.
For starters, and for those who don’t know much, my mother is 68, so her memory is not exactly pristine. I haven’t lived with her for about six years, when I moved away for work and found my own place. Before that, our relationship was never really close, and well, she’s an extremely self-centered person, so I wouldn’t expect her to pay close attention to me. I’m just her youngest child, you know. Not a big deal.
She wanted to know why I’m always alone. Then why I don’t really do much more than going to the mall for dinner and to the store for basic necessities. Then why I don’t invite a friend to go to the mall with me (all of my friends are in other cities, and I haven’t made any new ones here because I’m an unsociable little bitch). Then why I’m another kind of alone.
She decided she wanted to know why I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or something. You know, the way mothers act when they go into mother mode. She was never really desperate about that, but she’s now gotten into this weird ‘I’ll die and you’ll be all alone mode’, which is a bit odd, since she was never much company. And since when I lived with my parents, dating was a dirty word. You’d think I was talking about killing the President or giving my grandmother poisoned candy for her birthday. Every time they found out I was dating anyone, it was basically police state in the house. Including, but not limited to, listening in on phone calls, turning off the internet connection at night, reading my correspondence and raiding my bedroom. It was serious business.
So, you’d think I would either be put off dating at all or desperate to date the moment I escaped this ridiculous environment, right? Well… I was somewhere in between. I did have a few relationships – both in and out of the police state. Some were good, others were meh, others were absolutely nightmarish (I’ll probably talk about them at some point in the future).
But I didn’t have any desire to sleep with anyone, or very little. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I felt actual sexual desire. And honestly, it was so mild I could barely bring myself to do anything about it. I fell in love just like the next gal, but that was it. It was sentimental and romantic, but not sexual.
For the longest time, I thought there was something wrong with me. Something broken that I needed to fix. And I tried. I even went in for a full check-up, because there had to be something wrong, right? How come I didn’t feel anything like other girls normally did?
No, readers, there was nothing wrong. Everything was in tip-top shape physically. Emotionally, well, I had my issues here and there, who doesn’t? But nothing so severe that could make me a sexual hermit. And I had felt some measure of sexual arousal a time or two, right? So… what was it?
I decided to read on about it, and started googling things like it was my job (oh, how I wish my job could be googling shit. I’d be a millionaire by now). And after looking here and there, I hit information on different forms of sexuality I had never heard of. Two terms grabbed my attention: asexual and demisexual.
For context, and giving you lovely people a very short and simple explanation, an asexual person, also sometimes referred to as ace, is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. A demisexual person is someone who cannot experience sexual attraction unless a personal bond is formed first.
With this knowledge now in my hands, I stopped to thing. What was I? Was I asexual? I thought so for a long time, because I didn’t really feel much in terms of desire. But I did feel a little, didn’t I? Just not too easily, or for just about anyone. But I did. So I thought more. And thought about the situations in which I had felt sexual desire. It was never random. It had only happened with some very few wonderful people with whom I had built a strong bond. Bingo.
I know it sounds silly, but it felt as though a weight had been lifted off my chest. I was finally something other than a weirdo who had no place in this world. I could finally explain myself in a way that didn’t take me ten minutes. Heck, I could even tell people “Google this” without feeling so awkward.
My relationships became easier, or I started feeling better about them. I even started having fun with dating and being with someone.
But I couldn’t make my mother understand that. Oh, well. She still thinks I had a bad relationship and became traumatized. What can I do? I can go on trying to explain it to those people who will understand, or at least try.
Phew, I think I’ve talked way too much today.
How about you, my dearies? What was your ‘eureka’ moment in your life, or the moment when you learned something about yourself, the world, life, universe and everything (42) that made everything make sense?
Share with me in the comments!
See you all on the next post! <3