Being Asexual/Aromantic is Like Being A Unicorn

heart_smallThis a reminder that sexuality is fluid, and that you’re not alone. There is always the possibility of meeting that special someone at a special point in your life that will make you “go gay for them”, not because you never realized you were gay, but because everyone’s sexuality is fluctuating based on relationships and not artificial categories. I’m still waiting for someone to make me sexual, by the way. EDIT: Strangely enough I was right; being in a relationship “unlocked” my sexuality (what is known as demi-sexuality.) This in no way invalidates the feelings I had prior to my relationship, as if my boyfriend had not approached me, it is possible I’d be “asexual” for much longer-theoretically forever if I never met anyone that liked me or that that I liked back. 

 

I’ve never been hit by lightning, but the closest thing I’ve come to it is when I realized I was asexual/aromantic.

 

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According to the internet, a black ring on the middle right hand finger is a symbol of asexual pride.

A lot of people have commented to me:

“You’re so naive.”
“You’re so innocent.”

“You’re immature.”

“You’re modest.”

I had heard it all before. Up until last week, I didn’t think much about it. I always thought that because art and words and nature and sensations were so much more interesting than relationships, I just naturally gravitated to speaking about those things instead of romance and sex. That wasn’t weird; that was me. It was something that as I grew up I loved more and more about myself.

I had always thought of myself as special because of the special feelings those things gave me that sex and romance didn’t. It was fine that I was different; I was luckier because I had these special feelings that other people didn’t. I wanted all my life to find someone who cared about art and things more than romance like I did. I never did.

As I grew up, my friends wanted to date. I never did. I wanted to spend more time with them doing artistic things, or talking about that abstract, higher spiritual connection, the idea of which made me feel intensely good.

I wasn’t a special unicorn and there were other people like me.

It was by accident that I learned my uniqueness had to do with my sexual orientation. My friends and I were discussing random things, as usual. I had been out as a bisexual for one month (demi for maybe two weeks), and it was only natural that I engaged in conversations with boys about girls, except that what I wanted was different. As usual, my dreams and desires were different-cuddling, touching, out away from society in nature, not caring who saw our intimate moment. While I admired their ideals of the female form, I just wanted to be with someone, irregardless of their body, irregardless of words and kisses.

I had an aha moment: I didn’t want sex. My end goal, if I were to envision utopia, stopped short of sex. In fact, sex would ruin it.

After that, I googled asexuality. Although demi-sexuality by definition meant someone didn’t experience sexual attraction until they find that “someone”, that still implied I was capable of sexual attraction. Moving onto asexuality was bigger than realizing I wasn’t straight for the first time, or that I experienced “secondary sexual attraction”. Things weren’t going to move beyond in my current relationships and I couldn’t give the sex that potential loved ones craved. Although the term asexuality’s existence was meant to validate the asexual, I just felt more broken. Dreams of finding love replayed hauntingly vivid in my mind where they had only flitted through casually before. There was no “fix” for asexuals, a type of sexuality I didn’t even know existed a month ago. I never was close to finding that higher spiritual connection that now had a name, quasi platonic love.

I was naive for thinking I was as developed as everyone else, asexual or not.

It took me two days to truly accept that I was asexual, and I was depressed for four more. Did that mean I couldn’t ever be like that couple I admired in the winter engagement photos that I felt an instant connection to? Did that mean I would disappoint everyone in the entire nuclear and extended family by not having offspring, by giving them another burden? Would it affect my future platonic relationships, in case people were off put by my intense brand of platonic love? How would society receive me?

That was when I realized I was not just a horse, but a horse with wings.

I had been received by society for nearly twenty two years.

I could have a quasi-wedding with a future quasi-platonic partner, wearing plainclothes just like the couple in the engagement I admired.

I was still me.

 

I have always identified more with unicorn than a boring, fleshy girl, and now I realize it’s because I really have no ability to comprehend what carnal, delicious, sexual desire for another person is. Nor romance for another person: ICK. It’s the sensual details of people, discovered through touch, hearing and smell that interest me: love once it’s stripped away from sexuality. And it’s the mind, immaterial as unicorns, that draw me to them.

I may not have found other unicorns, yet, but that’s okay: I am a unicorn.*Identity subject to being changed by a future pegasus or phoenix.

You’re not alone.

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