With all the casual and not so casual cruelty, outright torture and murder of animals for fun, profit, food and just plain human nastiness, in your face every day, it is no wonder that people in PETA come across as unhinged sometimes. It must be like Sisyphus every day only ugly and worse and even more demoralizing. It seems like it would slowly drive you loonytoons and that members would start to go over the edge and do crazy stuff.
Saw a photo of my sister posted to Facebook by her grandson yesterday. She was at Michelle’s place for Thanksgiving (Swiss Chalet). It was only a back view and her hair looked terrible and she is chunky. I realized as I was looking at the picture that it was always ME that maintained contact and did all the running around to maintain a relationship with her..never ever the other way around. I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she actually drove anywhere to visit any of the homes I have ever lived in. Last time she wrote was that nasty, snubbing email on June 29, 2021 and since I did not reply and have not reached out since…there has been silence. I do not even comment on her Facebook posts. It is like she is dead to me…but I still mourn the loss of what we did have.
I stumbled across something weird and interesting and shocking. There is a sexual category to be pigeonholed into…like heterosexual, homosexual, lesbian, trans, and asexual. Asexual has a lot of subcategories like caedsexual and fictosexual. I suddenly realized that there was an explanation for my disconnection in the physical…why my body just did not seem to be aware and that my mind drove me to do things that it thought it should do at the time but the body was just an instrument and not a participant.
Wow, to finally know at 76 what the fuck was wrong with me my entire life and realize I am not alone in this either. Amazing. It explains why I never understood other women’s craving for sex or craziness when they did not get it or their pleasure when they had it. I can remember stretching my mind trying to understand something …like hearing a sighted person describe colour.
It was like that with religion, everyone around me with faith, and me wondering how do I get that. All those trips to every denomination church, all those services, all those bibles and nothing. The mind and body just refused to belief. I wanted it, I wanted what those people seemed to so fervently believe but in the end I not only could not believe but found it hard not to think that they were PUTTING IT ON for effect. It is still unreal to me and I still look at people spouting their beliefs as not quite all there.
All those books I read with sex and never able to actual ask a human female ‘what is it like…what does it feel like’. No wonder this last fifteen years have been the happiest of my life, no wonder growing old where I and society no longer think of me as a sexual being and not having someone is a normal thing, or not being interested at all in sex or masturbation or books with sex or anything to do with sex..can now be considered normal because I am PASSED IT.
I no long have to hide what or who I am from people. I love having my bed to myself, I love single person stuff. There is so much shit I don’t want anyone else to see or know about, that I never want to have to explain to another human being. Basically, anything I ever want to see or do is best enjoyed alone, on a bed with a book or a computer or a notepad and no other noise whatsoever.
I do not want people/men to look at me with appreciation or with sexual intent. I am neuter in all the tests I take on personality. Introverted and of no sexual identity whatsoever. It is why I put on so much weight…a fat suit to hide behind. In 2013, I lost a lot of weight because I felt safe from that gaze in men’s eyes and then Finton made a pass that I had to deflect and I felt the fear and within a short period of time I had my fat suit back on for five years. This year with Peter gone and Finton gone I am again losing the weight. I walk the world oblivious to other people of any sex. All my friendships and acquaintances came to me…I never sought them. I never tried to MAKE a friend or chase a lover…I often tried to fend them off at the start but if they were persistent then gradually I started reciprocating..not because I physically wanted to (I was often repulsed at people wanting to hug or say I love you or kiss you even on the cheek as they arrive or depart) but because my mind told me the motions required. It never ever felt natural and spontaneous. There are still a minimum of people in my life, I am not a joiner, I do not like to socialize, I do not like small talk. I also have no filter when I am forced into situations where I am one on one with another person. Words just seem to flood out of me…to keep them at bay or to drive them away. I hate going outside and talking to people can be excruciating and I am always happy when I go to get the mail etc. and meet no-one. I like a lot of alone time. I like having my own shit around me untouched by others.
Why I recognized caedsexual (result of trauma). None of what I read stated the trauma was in childhood. I was withdrawn and an outsider even before it happened but disconnected forever after. Chicken and egg. What I am, what I might have become as a result of trauma is certainly not a choice. It is what I have been as long as I can recall.
Haphazard and inconsistent childhood…nothing to hold onto…no safety net. Life was so random and precarious. Adults so untrustworthy and unavailable. No love or affection from anyone except predators wanting sexual things. It appeared that all I had to offer the world was my body and that body was wooden and it was my mind that was bruised.
Speaking of families – memory is so unreliable but my recollection is: Wendy was always MY responsibility. She was also the winsome little girl who stayed for dinner, got the cookies and freshly baked bread right out of the oven from neighbours and landlords. I was the one across the street shivering looking in the window. I remember ironing (standing on a box), I remember scrubbing clothes in a cement sink on a washboard, I remember putting clothes through a ringer washer and hanging them on the line in all kinds of weather. I remember frozen sheets. I remember dampening with a sprinkler bottle or putting in the freezer. I remember peeling a million potatoes and scraping wax off floors and rewaxing. I remember painting all the green squares on the huge linoleum kitchen floor on Queen Street while my mother painted the white. I remember hanging wallpaper with my mother. Where was Wendy? I do not remember her at my side sharing chores. I think I remember dinner preparation or dishes at Queen Street when Bent came into our lives. Too bad I cannot ask her her memories of that time….the bitch has decided I am a waste of her time.
The internet and email arrived in my life at a perfect time and suits me. My perfect relationships are faceless people sharing their minds electronically.
Ah, as for the asexual subsections:
The sexuality of being attracted to fictional characters, people who play those characters, and occasionally to other fictsexuals or avid fans
Person 1: Why don’t you go out with some real people instead of fantasizing about X-Files characters all day?
Person 2: I can’t! I’m fictsexual.
My fantasies never include me..as me. I am always watching and manipulating from behind the scenes or if I am one of the characters…I can be any sex but always focused outward and never recognizably me.