The Asexual Anxiety

These past couple of days, my asexuality has been following me around like a dark cloud. I thought I was over this feeling, but I guess I’m not.

Two of my closest friends are telling me all about how in love they are and how badly they want to get married. They seem so excited, so over-the-moon, about these guys. They talk to them day and night, and they get this special feeling of some kind when they see them. They rarely shut up about them. They’re willing to compromise their dreams, their vocational futures, to be with these men. I just can’t comprehend that.

And the more I hear about it, the worse I feel.

I know being asexual isn’t something that should be depressing, but it is for me. I have to barrel through life knowing that I’m missing something, and I’m already missing so much. All the things I can’t do because of my multiple illnesses. All the things I can’t try because of my medications. All the places I can’t go because there’s a risk that I might faint.

This feels like it’s another illness all on its own.

The more they talk about it, the more I am reminded that I’m going to do it because I have to. I want so badly to want it, but I don’t. I don’t want to ever have sex with anyone, but I’m verbally giving consent when in my head I’m practically screaming.

But that’s my cross to bear.

And Now it’s an Instagram

And now I have an Instagram. An Instagram, I have. My friend made me one years ago that I never used, and now, I’m using it.

That’s how badly I want to be a writer. I’m using Instagram; A platform I have largely criticized since I discovered it.

The username hendhsalah. I’m still building it, so don’t judge my lack of posting, please.

God I need a drink

of water.

I’m such a loser.