Questioning My Sexuality

Image Description:

Four aces (cards) that are all different colors, in the shades of the asexual flag. The Ace of Hearts has purple lettering on a black background, Ace of diamonds has white lettering on a grey background, Ace of clubs – grey on a white background, Ace of spades – black on a purple background.

My girlfriend K said something last night (many moons ago in real time) that at the time I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about. Obviously. Here I am writing about it. She said she’d been prepared to swear off sex completely because she was in love with me and I am largely asexual (demi-sexual). But we have a lot of sex in reality and that made her laugh cutely and say “I guess I made assumptions about asexuals”… I’m paraphrasing here from memory, and she didn’t mean anything by it, asexual people can have sex too – she knows this, but it almost immediately made me feel insecure about my sexual label and whether or not I actually belonged on the ace spectrum.

I am not sexual, sex scenes in visual media make me severely uncomfortable, body noises / secretions make me feel squicky pretty often as intrusive thoughts or sensory issues run wild, innuendos make me feel uncomfortable or squicky depending on how gross or inappropriate the joke is, I am fairly certain from my experiences with large naturalist groups – that seeing tonnes of naked strangers made me nauseas (though I have to add that I always noted everyone had a cute bum because all bums are cute #aesthetic things).

When I am by myself and single (not in romantic relationships) I don’t desire/feel sexually attracted to anyone – yes really.

SO I pondered all morning at work: am I asexual? The answer almost always came back to a self described sex repulsed ace. And also… No. Sometimes I’m super sexual – I suddenly want my partners W and K so much. I want to touch them sexually and make them feel good and I get aroused around them both to varying degrees. So only mostly ace, sometimes sexual with the people that I love romantically. The label I had for myself: Demisexual fits.

On top of that validating thought I came up with an analogy to describe my sexual attraction to my partners, which works in tandem with this neat electricity analogy about demisexuality that I read here: . Where potential for sexual attraction = electricity/lights and allosexuals always have access to electricity and asexuals don’t but demisexuals

I am autistic and asexual. My autism tends to make me hyperempathetic most especially with people I love. So I feel it quite keenly when I do something that my partners like or they look at me and I can feel their desire for me like a sexual mirror that reflects their sexuality and sexual attraction/desire back onto me. And I think I respond in kind.

So the mirror here for me, reflects like a beam of desire/tension/light from my partners onto me and that sort of helps the action potential reaction that is my sexual attraction electricity. With W I feel their warm steady desire for me, more often than not, like a candle lit room. It’s not over whelmingly bright but it’s almost always there and comforting. When I’m with them I could bathe in their attention for ever but mostly want warm sleepy cuddles.

With my other partner K it’s different. Her sexuality hits me like a bright hot glow of stage light. I tend to be more sexual with K as a result. Which doesn’t make me any less demi, my sexuality just operates differently with her. Nor does it make my relationship with W any less significant. When all three of us are together though it’s like being hit with double the wattage stage light beams and I end up desiring them both a tonne.

Moral of the story? Sexuality is confusing a lot of the time. It may operate differently with different people and that is A – Okay. Ace okay.

#Gay End ❤

Mid-ish May 2017 – BPD feels

Still posting old snippets of journal entries here, this next post deals a lot with BPD feelings that I’d been having, that’s shorthand for Borderline Personality Disorder, which is not something I’ve ever been formally diagnosed with, it’s something that upon reading the DSM and other online diagnostic testing I was fairly certain I had. Which makes sense given my history of trauma and shitty abusive relationships familial or otherwise. Full disclosure I mention smoking marijuana, it helped me a lot during this period with eating disorder issues, sleeping schedules and getting in touch with my feelings. Marijuana is not a cure all but it definitely helped with my cPTSD.

Sometime after May 9th 2017:

Guess who’s back and high again? Star asks themselves a rhetorical question. Like a neurotypical totally might? Without a doubt.

Sat on the balcony for quite a little while  a couple hours and listened to Here Comes a Thought on repeat… I find the repetitive melody and validating lyrics + weed very helpful in accessing my own feelings. Woke up earlier not feeling much more than literal garbage. I’m thinking oversleeping & ignoring my body’s needs might have something to do with how fucked mentally I’m feeling. Was sad/depressed/lonely after my nap and I’m not really sure why (Not that depression needs a reason) – I saw Kasey all weekend. I mean, I do miss Wynne as they’re out of town, but I think I’m just at the point where everything has piled up and I have to pick through the gigantic mess that is my brain to figure out where the smells are coming from.

Ignoring everything like I always do doesn’t help me… you’d think I’d learn but then again survival mechanisms are difficult habits to break.

I think part of it might be that I actually twinged about Wynne and Kasey’s relationship today. I am absolutely certain that I want them to be together/date and jealousy on my part is entirely hypocritical and selfish. I’ve been scaring myself lately with all the weird teenage-esque hyper possessive thoughts I’ve been having about both of them. This NRE (new relationship energy – I’d just started dating Kasey approximately 10 days earlier) is fucking me up. I keep triggering myself about Cameron, bringing him up all the time with them both, mostly Kasey right now since again, Wynne isn’t here. Our relationship was fucked near the end, though I did start learning a lot about myself through our time together.

One discovery I made early on is that I am very attracted to AMAB folx who fuck/queer up their gender expression. Aesthetically and romantically – still on the ace spectrum here fam.

Kasey is gorgeous and always has been. She honestly never reminded me of him before.

OH. Oh damn. It just occurred to me that I’ve been worried about all the dang sex we’ve been having hahahahaha (maniacal laughter continues for a minute). Increased sexual occurrences are increasing my relationship paranoia because Cameron and I had a lot of sex. This was how I deluded myself into thinking we were connected emotionally and assured me that he loved me, despite my brain hating everything about my body. Maybe he did at some point, I don’t understand people’s feelings sometimes – especially when they don’t verbalize them. Anyways he lied to me many times, cheated on me a few times, and left me for his ex – whom he said he also loved. Yes there were warning signs – I was just really extremely bad at valuing myself at the time. I am marginally better in that I won’t tolerate abuse anymore.

Wynne worried me with how they handled having their own feelings for Kasey. It was impulsive and ignored me completely, when … on my end I gave them a lot of consideration about my feelings for Kasey. I had read as much as I was able of that dang book they wanted me to read (“More than two”) and told Wynne as soon as I was sure about wanting another relationship. So forgive me but I’m feeling fucked.

I think I’m scared that they will both leave me for one another -> so my brain is being possessive and defensive to protect me. Except I will never act on those feelings ever again with my partners because that was so fucked and toxic with him.

Sigh. The overwgelming evidence is that Wynne loves me. That Kasey loves me. That this BPD as hell train of thought and anxiety is not based in reality. They apologized for messing up, they didn’t mean to hurt me. Trauma was real, and painful – but it does not define the nature of my relationships.

Trauma was real. Your mother hurt you, your father ignored it. Cameron treated you badly and you know that age/immaturity perhaps was a factor. Fuck them. Trauma hurt you. Still hurts you, retears old scars picks at your brain scabs until they hurt again. But it doesn’t define the nature of your relationships.

Rohan, Wynne, Kasey, Rowan} all love me ❤

FU BPD. Fuck U BPD. Fuck you BPD. Fuck you BPD. Fuck you BPD. Fuck BPD. Fuck off ya bastard.

Here comes a thought is a song from Steven Universe whose soundtrack is now on Spotify – Highly recommend as a coping song.

Establishing Feelings 101: The Potassium Conundrum… a checklist of sorts

This was the list I had to write up to actually figure out if I had feelings for my girlfriend Kasey. Potassium’s element symbol being K… cause yeah autistic nerd here.

Being Ace/Demi makes dating fairly complicated as fuck because without initial sexual attraction as a sort of ‘hey I like this person a lot’ guide – navigating romantic feelings versus platonic feelings is a nightmare, at least for me. Almost all of my other relationships have been other people deciding they like me first and then telling me and then I’m like:

OH. What? You like me? That’s weird – I mean cool weird.

Which tends to open me up to romantic possibilities. I just tend to interact affectionately with everyone I’m friends with, if they’re cool with it, because that’s who I am. #relationshipanarchy Of course, that’s also gotten me into many an awkward scenario where I’m super affectionate and my friend ends up liking me romantically and I am definitely just very platonic in my feelings for them.

Anywhoodle, the list goes something like this!

  • Can picture romantic relationship Check
  • excitement, longing. missing the person, anticpation, butterflies? Check x 5
  • wanting to hold hands CHECK
  • wanting to hug/cuddle double check
  • comfort around this person yes ❤
  • have imagined kissing and it was good even though kissing can squick me out
  • when this person enters into a new relationship and I feel envious … pretty sure romantic feels
  • nervous anxiety – what if too late?? (note: both of us are polyamorous, I was mostly scared she was over me and that made me sad and anxious that I’d realized my feelings too late)

(An open letter to my mother)

December 18th, 2016

Mother dearest,

You’re probably reading that line and thinking I’m being passive aggressive and hurtful. That isn’t my intention. When I was younger I called you mother dearest, not knowing what it meant contextually, how would I have? Words and phrases get reused and referenced in popular media all the time. I’d heard the phrase and thought it was a funny teasing way of saying “mom” and when I was frustrated with you it seemed more appropriate. One day you told me to stop because it was a reference to a movie where “a psycho woman tries to kill her kids” and that it hurt you and I felt really bad and I think I was careful not to say it again.

I want you to know, that my trans identity was never meant to hurt you and likewise this restraining order was not requested with the intention of hurting you or unfairly punishing you in some way. I also want you to know that you are dear to me despite all the ways you’ve hurt me and there have been many.

I don’t think you’re abusive because you enforced household rules. I barely remember the times I would get in trouble for lying, stealing, or picking on my brothers, or not behaving as a kind individual. That’s generally when kids need discipline or guiding words to educate them. I recognized that I’d misbehaved and moved on.

I think you’re abusive because most of my memories of you are tainted with backhanded compliments (seemingly kind words laced with insults). Of you constantly critiqueing my body and telling me how I should work harder to change it. I was always too fat. “You look like you’re pregnant.”  Or hairy. (Taking me to get essentially my entire body waxed from age 11-14/15 because I was the hairiest baby you’d ever seen and my body hair was somehow unnatural. I was a kid and would forget to eat before going because we would tend to go right after school and I remember many times feeling faint from hunger and pain) I remember you encouraging me at 16 to spend the money I made from my job on laser hair removal. Which. You know I did do, because all I ever felt about my body was shame back then. Or had too many zits. Or my hair was too short. Or my clothes too androgynous. “You look like a fucking dyke”.

Or I remember your explosive volatile anger that would erupt quite suddenly once you got home from work. If the dishes weren’t clean you’d rage. If shoes were left in the wrong place you’d throw them across the house. I’m fairly certain you broke a window once doing that. But it wasn’t just the cleanliness of the house.

If I defended my dad when you were constantly insulting him about his weight, or his intelligence, or viciously naming him with crudely fashioned insults, you would also get angry with me. Or you’d start to cry.


December 16th – The Day I got a restraining order against my mother

Today I’ve just filed a restraining order against my mother – which was surprisingly (or unsurprisingly depending on your perspective) difficult. My name is Star and I am 23 years old. Sometimes I need to visually as well as verbally remind myself of this, because I wasn’t always who I am today and frankly I am not certain how I managed to live this long, or to come this far. I am a nonbinary transgender individual who is mentally ill. I know right? Another queerdo with mental illness, my friends and I are pretty sure trauma (and resultant mental illnesses) has informed a lot of our queer identities. There are probably a bunch of small sample studies that point to the same conclusion. WHICH just so you know (whoever you are) doesn’t make them any less valid, or real – it just is.

My feelings towards my mother are complicated as fuck. I used to think the only thing I felt for her was hatred, but parental abuse messes with your head in so many ways – I’d laugh here because it’s just so horrible – that your emotions get manipulated into this really confusing toxic ball that gives you a headache trying to figure out and leaves a heavy weight on your chest. Some of the ones I’ve been feeling today are a sort of sad regret that it’s come to this, guilt (maybe I am just blowing everything out of proportion, Maybe I’m just the ungrateful sour teenager that she always said I was), fear (overwhelming fear that this won’t keep her away from me, that she will see what I’ve said and deny it to the legal system and that they’ll believe her) so much fear it’s blinding me. Anxious worry that people will tell me I’m wrong to have done something so severe, “she’s just your mom. I’m sure deep down she cares – she just doesn’t know how to express it”, that everything I remember about my childhood – which is more and more every day now … is a lie.

I’m 5 or 6, linear timelines are hard to pin down, (note: it’s not until Summer of 2017 that I realize that’s related to autism and start that line of discovery) and something is changing. Mom and Dad seem to fight a lot and I don’t remember them doing that before, not where I could see, and Mom cries a lot. It’s scary. I don’t know what’s going on. I wait up in my bed for either of them to kiss me goodnight but I don’t know how long it’s been. I don’t think they’re going to come and I’m crying and getting up to investigate because this is bedtime tradition and it makes me feel good. I think they’re mostly resigned and annoyed when I call to them.  

We moved around a lot but I guess we’re living in Beaumont now. I miss the old house in Calgary. It was blue, and my bedroom was pink with lighter pink hearts all over the walls. I have one friend, a boy the same age as me named Joel, he lives in the neighborhood. I don’t think I’m in school yet, we seem to play together every day. I race to his house after supper and we play until it gets dark. Joel is really nice, he might have blonde hair, I hope we stay friends forever.

I think it’s thanksgiving, Grandma and Grandpa are here and there’s a lot of food and there’s no snow on the ground. I race off to Joel’s house and knock on the door. Joel’s mom answers the door. She looks… I don’t know. Sad maybe, or vacant. I ask if Joel can come out and play. Her face does this thing, and are those cuts on her face? “Joel is dead.” She tells me and I don’t understand, I’d just seen him yesterday. He died in a car accident. I don’t think I really knows what that means, but I walk home and I think everybody is loudly coversing (it’s the holidays) when I come inside – someone is surprised I’m back so soon. I tell them my friend is dead (more of an echoing of a statement than an understanding probably). I don’t remember anyone comforting me, or mentioning Joel again after that. I still think about him obviously. A lot of the time it’s sadness that he never got to grow up. Sometimes it’s guilt, like I wish it’d been me. His mom seemed to like him a lot.

Time passes. Mom seems angry all the time. Mostly at dad, and I don’t like that because dad is nice and Mom’s being really mean and calling him names all the time. Useless idiot, Stupid Asshole, Ignorant Cocksucker, Jackass…I wish she’d stop. I think I tell her that. She doesn’t like that very much. She calls me a Daddy’s girl, and never seems to shake the idea that I’ve chosen a side. We spend a lot of time running errands at banks, where mom goes inside and we stay in the car. Probably because Douglas is so annoying – he doesn’t grow out of it.

Mom really likes her horses. She and Dad race them for money, and she really likes that about them. She spends a lot of time feeding them, watering them, bathing them, petting them, praising them. I’m bored and too small to be any real help. And anyways the horses scare me because they’re big and tend to kick their stalls and make loud noises. I feel like mom loves the horses more than me and when I complain about them she reminds me all too clearly that they pay for my existence and I better not say anything about it anymore.

Abuse is a funny concept. Funny, in that it’s not funny when people only look for signs of one kind and mom never left bruises on my skin. She has a really bad temper though, like she’s really volatile and little things seemed to set her off that when you’re a child perhaps you don’t pay much attention to. Messes, spills, accidentally knocked over items – she hated that. Doing so was sure to get you called something awful, are you retarded? Are you stupid? How could you do that? Haven’t you outgrown that? Maybe you really are special needs (most of those were directed at my youngest brother, he always seemed to be growing and wasn’t really able to pay attention to what his body would do. He spilled a lot.) Or leaving shoes in the middle of the carpeted entrance way. I remember her getting so angry and throwing a pair of shoes from the back door, across the living room to the front door, so hard that it shattered the glass pane beside the front door. I think we made that into a joke. Making light of her abusive actions was something we all did pretty often – it was a useful tactic for survival. She didn’t take serious criticisms well.

I remember we had this solid backed plastic brush with the poofy front bristles. That my mom loved to yank through my hair, which was long and I was bad at taking care of so brushing my hair hurt and I would cry pretty often and maybe that was why, or maybe Douglas was irritating her at the same time, or maybe both (or even Kellen) but she slammed that brush down onto the table so hard that the back cracked in several places. We continued to use and kept that brush in a drawer by the mirror in the kitchen for years.