On asexuality, and my experience so far with growing up ace.

 Last year (2010, for those who are questioning), in September, I came across a new word. I didn’t know what it meant, and so I googled it.

That google search has been one of the best things I’ve ever done.

The word was Asexual, and as I read more and more about it I cried. I found out I wasn’t the only person feeling like I do about relationships and sex (i.e., I’m sure they’re nice. I’m good without it, thanks, but you guys do whatever you want*)

Before that, though, I lived life assuming something was wrong with me. It didn’t worry me too much**, but every so often, when friends were dating/talking about who they ‘liked’ or well meaning family members were hinting that I’d best start dating soon, there was a bit of me going “what’s wrong with me?! Why am I such a freak?’. It was a little bit of me, but it still existed.

It shouldn’t have. It’s not right that children grow up without the correct words to express how they feel. It’s not right that teens (and older) are made to feel like freaks because they don’t spend all their time/any of their time trying to shag anybody they can.

It’s not right that when we do find the words, discover we’re not freaks/broken/wrong, that people tell us that actually, we are. I’ve been told that I’ve got a disorder, that I don’t feel the way I do, that I’m just trying to be special/difficult, that I’m broken.

I’m not broken. And neither is any other asexual.

Deal with it.

*assuming it’s all safe, sane and consensual.

**it was more of a ‘yet another thing that sets me apart from the world. Fine, whatever, less bills to eventually pay. I’ll get a cat or something, and become that crazy aunt who turns up at family gatherings’