I hope that telling my story here — a story that is not straightforward, full of strange twists and turns and shame and pride alike — will speak to you today. When I put out a poll recently on twitter asking if I should write my journey of discovering my orientation for International Asexuality Day, I thought I had told it enough times, or that it wasn’t interesting enough, to get a majority rule of “yes”. The social media page for the day itself said they were interested, so, here I am — restarting these thoughts at 8pm eastern time for the tenth time today, wringing my hands and wondering if these words will fall onto open minds or if they will be dismissed in the cacophony of personal stories the internet has to offer. The only story I can offer from my own perspective, truly, is my own; I hope that it is enough.
I am demisexual. I also use the word graysexual. I am panromantic. I am agender. I exist within the asexuality spectrum — somewhere in the gray between allosexual and asexual, somewhere that isn’t supposed to exist and that many still don’t believe is real. But I am here; I am, against all odds, real, as is my sexual orientation.
And this is my story.
This post will include discussion of sexual abuse, eating disorders, trauma, purity culture, and self injury. Reader discretion is advised. Thank you.
