In today's post I am going to write about loneliness. Not the "no one loves me" kind of loneliness, but the "there's no one like me" kind of loneliness.
I just did a quick search for Facebook groups on asexuality, I was looking especially for ones that were in Saskatchewan. Finding a total of ZERO, I expanded my search to encompass all of Canada. I found four. And many of them were closed groups where you had to get approved to join, and the ones that were open had regular posts reminding the users to report anyone who was being acephobic. For those who aren't regularly involved within the LGBTQIA+ community, acephobia is much like homophobia, but dealing with asexuality. The reasons these warning have to be continually posted is simple and frightening: the general public doesn't believe in our existence, or when they do, they don't understand. And when the general public doesn't believe or understand something, they mock the people who are part of it.
This isn't limited to the general public either. I've had members of the queer community ask me ignorant questions, and belittle my experiences as not "gay enough". Obviously this isn't meant to say that everyone is acephobic, on the contrary there are many people who are supportive and have genuinely wanted to learn more about the ace community.
The sad fact is that so many aces keep it to themselves because they don't want to be questioned or insulted or told that they're broken. The feeling of brokenness is something many aces have in common. Asexuality isn't taught in schools, it's not shown on mainstream television (and when it is most often the characters are treated like jokes or people that need to be fixed), so it is hard for many people to find about it. Many aces, especially teenagers constantly surrounded by hormones and a hyper-sexualized cultures, wonder if they are broken because they are not feeling the sexual attraction that society deems necessary for everyday living! I buried my feelings of brokenness in religion and told myself that my lack of sexual attraction was simply because I was super Christian. It wasn't until I was 24 and stumbling around the internet that I saw a mention of asexuality for the first time. My first thought was not a gracious one. I thought Man, they have names for everything these days! I don't feel sexual attraction, I don't call myself anything! It took me a long time to fall asleep that night because I kept thinking about it, and the next day I spent hours researching it.
It took some time for me to admit to myself that I was asexual. I wasn't ashamed, I just didn't have the knowledge. I didn't want to admit that I had been lying to myself, covering up my sexuality with other things.
I didn't want to be honest with myself.
I didn't want to be alone.
Asexuality exists in a very small percentage of people: one percent. At most. Studies have said that up to 1% of adults are asexual. Compared to the 10-20% that homosexual or bisexual. We live in a world that barely accepts or understands gay people, and they represent up to one fifth of the entire population! Now imagine how the world reacts to a group of people that make up one one hundredth of the population!
I have a few friends within the asexuality community, friends that are scattered around the entire planet. Some of them are still trying to come to terms with the fact that they aren't broken, some of them lie to people about their sexuality, while others are actively trying to make themselves "straight" because society says that they should be.
This summer I was at the fifth largest pride parade in the world. The Vancouver Pride Parade is an event that has over 650 000 people participating, which makes it the largest parade period in Western Canada. In the parade were groups representing the trans communities, the gay communities, the bi communities, the lesbian communities, the fetish communities, allies, two-spirit, non-binary, people representing pan-sexuality. But no one for the asexual community. I had never felt like I was more apart and more separate from something in my entire life. I watched the parade with a super cute lesbian couple and a gay guy. They loved it and gave off great energy. I loved it too, but I still felt left out because there was nothing in the parade, no one in the 650 000, that was representing my community. Once the euphoria of being part of something so large wore off, I felt this immense loneliness.
About a month and a half before this I had been at the Saskatoon Pride Parade, a parade that was about one percent the size of Vancouver's, and there was a slight difference. There were people in the parade with signs saying they were asexual. Living proof of other asexuals! Right in front of my face! It was amazing! I wasn't alone! In a crowd of thousands, I wasn't alone, yet in a crowd of hundreds of thousands I was. Strange feelings.
Being asexual is a strange experience. On one hand you're now part of a larger community with people like you, but on the other hand you're also being excluded by larger communities who deny your very existence. All at once you're part of this large community and alone at the same time. The dichotomy of our existence.
I love who and what I am, I wouldn't change it for anything. But I do feel alone at times, and I would love to have ace friends closer to home. For now I am content with the friends I have around the world. Just knowing that they are out there cuts the loneliness down.
To any fellow aces reading this, you are not alone, you are not broken. I love each and every one of you. To everyone else reading this, thank you for taking your time to read something that doesn't directly involve you.
For now, loneliness is just one of the many things that an ace has to accept, but this will not always be the case. Until that day, I love you, and I am here for all of you.
I just did a quick search for Facebook groups on asexuality, I was looking especially for ones that were in Saskatchewan. Finding a total of ZERO, I expanded my search to encompass all of Canada. I found four. And many of them were closed groups where you had to get approved to join, and the ones that were open had regular posts reminding the users to report anyone who was being acephobic. For those who aren't regularly involved within the LGBTQIA+ community, acephobia is much like homophobia, but dealing with asexuality. The reasons these warning have to be continually posted is simple and frightening: the general public doesn't believe in our existence, or when they do, they don't understand. And when the general public doesn't believe or understand something, they mock the people who are part of it.
This isn't limited to the general public either. I've had members of the queer community ask me ignorant questions, and belittle my experiences as not "gay enough". Obviously this isn't meant to say that everyone is acephobic, on the contrary there are many people who are supportive and have genuinely wanted to learn more about the ace community.
The sad fact is that so many aces keep it to themselves because they don't want to be questioned or insulted or told that they're broken. The feeling of brokenness is something many aces have in common. Asexuality isn't taught in schools, it's not shown on mainstream television (and when it is most often the characters are treated like jokes or people that need to be fixed), so it is hard for many people to find about it. Many aces, especially teenagers constantly surrounded by hormones and a hyper-sexualized cultures, wonder if they are broken because they are not feeling the sexual attraction that society deems necessary for everyday living! I buried my feelings of brokenness in religion and told myself that my lack of sexual attraction was simply because I was super Christian. It wasn't until I was 24 and stumbling around the internet that I saw a mention of asexuality for the first time. My first thought was not a gracious one. I thought Man, they have names for everything these days! I don't feel sexual attraction, I don't call myself anything! It took me a long time to fall asleep that night because I kept thinking about it, and the next day I spent hours researching it.
It took some time for me to admit to myself that I was asexual. I wasn't ashamed, I just didn't have the knowledge. I didn't want to admit that I had been lying to myself, covering up my sexuality with other things.
I didn't want to be honest with myself.
I didn't want to be alone.
Asexuality exists in a very small percentage of people: one percent. At most. Studies have said that up to 1% of adults are asexual. Compared to the 10-20% that homosexual or bisexual. We live in a world that barely accepts or understands gay people, and they represent up to one fifth of the entire population! Now imagine how the world reacts to a group of people that make up one one hundredth of the population!
I have a few friends within the asexuality community, friends that are scattered around the entire planet. Some of them are still trying to come to terms with the fact that they aren't broken, some of them lie to people about their sexuality, while others are actively trying to make themselves "straight" because society says that they should be.
This summer I was at the fifth largest pride parade in the world. The Vancouver Pride Parade is an event that has over 650 000 people participating, which makes it the largest parade period in Western Canada. In the parade were groups representing the trans communities, the gay communities, the bi communities, the lesbian communities, the fetish communities, allies, two-spirit, non-binary, people representing pan-sexuality. But no one for the asexual community. I had never felt like I was more apart and more separate from something in my entire life. I watched the parade with a super cute lesbian couple and a gay guy. They loved it and gave off great energy. I loved it too, but I still felt left out because there was nothing in the parade, no one in the 650 000, that was representing my community. Once the euphoria of being part of something so large wore off, I felt this immense loneliness.
About a month and a half before this I had been at the Saskatoon Pride Parade, a parade that was about one percent the size of Vancouver's, and there was a slight difference. There were people in the parade with signs saying they were asexual. Living proof of other asexuals! Right in front of my face! It was amazing! I wasn't alone! In a crowd of thousands, I wasn't alone, yet in a crowd of hundreds of thousands I was. Strange feelings.
Being asexual is a strange experience. On one hand you're now part of a larger community with people like you, but on the other hand you're also being excluded by larger communities who deny your very existence. All at once you're part of this large community and alone at the same time. The dichotomy of our existence.
I love who and what I am, I wouldn't change it for anything. But I do feel alone at times, and I would love to have ace friends closer to home. For now I am content with the friends I have around the world. Just knowing that they are out there cuts the loneliness down.
To any fellow aces reading this, you are not alone, you are not broken. I love each and every one of you. To everyone else reading this, thank you for taking your time to read something that doesn't directly involve you.
For now, loneliness is just one of the many things that an ace has to accept, but this will not always be the case. Until that day, I love you, and I am here for all of you.
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