So, yesterday after I posted this post, I finally went off and talked to someone about it. And, well, I guess I’m effectively asexual.

*sigh*

I feel mildly attracted to people, to the point where I’m happy to look appreciatively at them, and want to be around them, but I don’t really want to do anything, more than that. I get crushes, sometimes, but they’re usually not really sexual, at all.

Part of my confusion had come from the fact that I had a misunderstanding about exactly what asexuality is: I’d assumed it was someone who had absolutely no desire or attraction whatsoever, but it turns out that like any orientation, there are shades of grey. The AVEN (Asexual Visibility and Education Network) Overview and General FAQ pages are helpful in clarifying this, but what I found most enlightening was a short, educational, entertaining and accessible video on youtube about the kinds of asexuality there are – that is the different ways in which asexuality presents itself. And one of those – that’s me. Mild attraction to people, no desire to actually do anything with them, really, and a sort of general, low-level sexual desire that doesn’t really attach to anything. Romantic non-sexual interest. That’s me.

I’d always sort of hoped, that it was something I could grow into, the whole sex thing – like, eventually I would want it, like my development was slowed or something. I guess… I didn’t really want to face the idea that this was another area where I’m weird, that I can’t tick the ‘normal, healthy relationship‘ box on the list of things people are supposed to have and to be. I kept telling myself that maybe I’d just develop it late, you know? But at this point, I don’t think that sex is something I’m ever going to want – I’m 24 years old this year, so if sex were something I actually wanted, at all, I think there would have been a sign.

It’s sort of a relief to finally admit that I don’t really want that, and that a sexual relationship is not  a thing I could ever, realistically, want. I sort of had this anxiety attached to the whole face that I didn’t have that yet, and so admitting to myself that maybe this is just what I am, and I don’t have to freak out about it, is a relief.

It does make me kind of sad, because the relationship thing would have been nice, but deep down it’s not something I ever felt I could achieve – a normal relationship, I mean. Sex. All that. It’s something I’ve always thought about, from time to time, like my lack of it meant I was failing at being a human being, like a kind of secret shame, but not something I really wanted in my day-to-day life. There, I’m pretty comfortable as I am.

I guess part of it is that for most people, the use of the word ‘asexual’ has so many negative connotations – like you’re less than human somehow, or damaged, or incapable of emotion or human relationships on any level. Whereas, I do get crushes and romantic feelings, I just don’t want to do anything about them.  Except, you know, hang around being friendly and helpful, and trying to be a part of someone’s life that they value.

For me, the whole sex thing – okay, this is a terrible analogy, but bear with me, it’s sort of like when you do dissection in high school, alright? Like, you feel interested in the idea and think it could be kind of cool, maybe, but you equally suspect that it could be turn out to be gross and unpleasant. That’s sort of how I feel. Like maybe, if it happened to me, I might find it pleasurable, but I could equally be the recoiling ‘hell no!’ person.

I guess I feel happier, admitting all this – it’s just that I feel like I’m missing out on something, something important, like how in high school I always used to feel suddenly awkward and lacking and kind of ashamed and worried whenever someone asked me about my (non-existent) dating life or interest in boys, or talked about theirs. Like it was something I should have, or be. I can remember sitting with the other girls at lunch, kind of wide-eyed and a little bemused (and sometimes, faintly disturbed) as they cheerfully chatted about cute guys and what they liked doing with their boyfriends, and how sometimes I would think that these things were really weird.

All the other girls were into cute boys (except for the girls into girls, of course, but they usually nodded along with the boy-talk and didn’t proffer their own interests – most didn’t come out until after we’d all graduated) on some level: and there I was, mostly unbothered by all of that aspect of hormonal development, sailing through without it.

Whenever I said I wasn’t really interested in dating or boys, they’d exchange these concerned glances, like they liked me as a person, but they thought I was some kind of freak. And when I went to the senior formal, and said I’d dated (extremely briefly, as it happens, but hey) the guy I’d brought as my date? They all sort of relaxed and exchanged looks like suddenly I made sense to them and it was reassuring. It wasn’t until I actually began thinking about all of this, that I realised how much my feelings of wrongness and awkwardness (from that time, in response to their behaviour) had stuck with me, even now. They were kind enough to me – no one ever said anything, or was nasty – but I could feel the difference. Between me and them, I mean.

Do you know what I’d honestly, really like? A really close, intimate friendship, like I had with my best friend in primary school (I KNOW THIS IS LAME, I CAN’T HELP THAT IT IS THE TRUTH), only without the dangerously intense vibe and massive level of fail, and with someone who liked me back the same way. Where we could be each others worlds, and deal with each other all the time, but live our own lives and never bring sex or anything into it. That’s what I’d like. It’s what I’ve always wanted. One person who is everything to me, and to whom I am everything.

Maybe someday I’ll meet someone I’m attracted to enough, and like enough, to consider having some kind of sex life with, but for now, I guess I’m okay.

24/02/2012: Having researched the heck out of everything about asexuality (because I research all things), I don’t know that I precisely fit the asexual definition – I mean, I more or less do, but maybe there’s little wibbly vague bits in there I’m not as sure about? Definitely fit under the grey-A umbrella, though, 100%, so. Close enough, especially if I ever need to discuss this with people who might not really understand what I’m talking about – which, to be frank, is most people, honestly. The idea of asexuality seems to be confusing enough for people to grasp, without bringing up the grey-A thing.