Bet Your Bottom Dollar You’ll Lose the Blues in Chicago

I had the audacity to take a weekend trip to Chicago with some friends to see my brother. I anticipated a long drive, plenty of rest stops, and shit ton of money spent on gas.

What I did not anticipate was the fact that I would have a terrible fucking time, because I am legitimately stupid. I went to Chicago with two married couples, only to meet up with my brother, who is engaged.

Three couples, and me.

I should have known that things were going to take a very ugly turn when we were all getting ready. All the women in the apartment were busy putting on a shit ton of make-up, primping and bedazzling like they were on an America’s Next Top Model challenge.

It was like watching an ant farm. Three girls scurrying about, taking out curlers and liners and other objects I didn’t recognize. I truly didn’t understand why they were doing this. It didn’t change very much. They didn’t look any different, and all of them were already beautiful.

And as we took our first class-trip into the heart of Chitown for eighth class seats at Lolapalooza, my aro-ace anxiety hit me like a rusted freight train off its rails. They were all walking in pairs; Each guy had his arm around his girl, and I was just walking in the back all by myself. I was now officially intruding on couple’s night, and it fucking sucked. It was a mild representation of what my life is actually like: people pairing up around me, and me taking my phone for a walk.

What’s even worse, it was also a reminder that one day I might have to be like them, because I have to get married. I’m going to be stuck doing things like that, because he won’t have a clue what he fucking married.

It wasn’t resentment toward them. I was getting extremely anxious, and I couldn’t hide that with anything other than anger. I wasn’t mad that they had left me on my own. I love being on my own. I just couldn’t mask the anxiety any other way, and they bought it hook, line, and sinker. We turned it into a joke and went on about our business.

But then we got home, and every girl was in her guy’s arms, and I was sitting on my own, again. It’s not like I can be upset with them over it; They’re married and happy. There’s no reason they should disguise their love because I am disgustingly abnormal. The only thing keeping me grounded was my friend back on the East Coast, who was texting me the entire time. Even after everyone had slept, she was miraculously not tired, and we stayed up until 4 a.m. talking and messing around.

But she had to go to bed, eventually. She had work the next day. I was alone in the dark, now. I couldn’t ignore the anxiety anymore, and since there were people all over the apartment sleeping, I had to sit in the bathroom with the light off, music in my ears and trying not to cry.

How disgustingly pathetic is that?

I had zero reason to react that way. I had a panic attack because I was walking by myself among people who clearly just wanted to be with each other. So what? Why am I so uncomfortable being so ridiculously different, even after all these years? I am twentyfuckingfive.

People shouldn’t have to edit their lives just because I’m a mess. They can’t act differently around me simply because I might fall apart.

But I don’t think I can take this, anymore.

Never, ever again. Single friends only.

Time to get the hell out of Chicago.

Fuck off, Sinatra.

Baby We Had a Good Thing Going

There are some days in which standing up for yourself is almost entirely impossible, in which being who you are outwardly is unacceptable in your most basic moral code, in which you find yourself in the presence of people who can strip you of every powerful wall you’ve built between yourself and reality.

I went to visit an old woman who I love just as I love my own grandmother. She is among the kindest and most well-intentioned people in my life, and for this reason, I held my tongue and let her say whatever she wanted to say, even though I was having a nervous breakdown inside.

I recently broke up with a guy who is a close family friend to both hers and my own family. I finally ended the relationship, as I should have a very long time ago, but it hasn’t sat well with anyone around me. According to them, I was throwing away a blessing. How could I just let someone who was so in love with me go?

And I watched her as she went on and on about how I might not get another shot at someone like this, and how I could have control over him and what he does if I just take him back. She told me that I might not find anyone, and then eventually end up with someone abusive. She noted that I was not perfect, and should never expect to find someone who is.

Now, how do you tell someone who has no concept of asexuality that you are ar-ace? You can’t. Instead, you listen to her tell you all the different reasons you screwed up. Instead, you let everyone in the room tell you that you’re throwing your life away. Instead, you sit down, shut up, and wish you had an explanation anyone would accept.

Instead, you wait until you go home to think about how goddamn selfish you were to date him to begin with.

Speak up. Say Something. Who are you afraid of?

Robert Frost once said, “Half the world is composed of people who want to say something and can’t, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.”

Restraints come in many different forms. They can be fear of consequences, judgments, tomorrow, society. They can be physical binds and emotional trauma. They can be rational, irrational or even a bit of both. The first half of the world is terrorized by entities it cannot capture, for often, they exist only in our minds.

We are terrified of missteps, cautious of embarrassment, weary of others and anxious of “x.”

And every so often, binds that we create for ourselves lead us to the very precipice of insanity. We drive ourselves to devastated mental states. It has created the possibility of concurrent existence of sanity and insanity; We function as normal human beings, not outwardly struggling in physical or “literal” aspects of our lives, but when we lay down to sleep, silence is deafening. We can’t be alone with ourselves, because we are plagued with memories and thoughts that we suppress during the day. We analyze every word we have said until everything disintegrates into total nonsense and our regrets intensify.

What we are afraid to say plays over and over in our minds until we fall into nightmares or fail to sleep completely.

And nothing is worth it. No one has power over you unless you give it to them.

Speak up. Say it. Say something. Who are you afraid of? Break the chains, so that when you lay down to sleep at night, you don’t wonder what could have happened.

And if it backfires, learn to forgive yourself. No one matters but you. It will hurt. I cannot promise immediate solace, but it will fade if you let it.

I basically admitted to being asexual to my father, yesterday. It was an absolutely horrible experience, and it made me feel like complete and total trash. He wasn’t at all mean. At least, not intentionally, but it was just not good. I agreed to things I should not have agreed to.

Oh, and this was two hours into my birthday. I’m officially 25 years old.

I do not regret it, because I am not ashamed of who I am.

No one should ever be. Speak up. Say something. Who are you afraid of?