Caffeine Blues

Early today, I heard that some Food Association in Sweden is looking into a ban of Monster, Red Bull and other energy drinks; reason: since 2004, 4 people died from consumption of Monster/booze mix. Now, there is so terribly much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start.

First, I offer for your consideration: Maybe, the energy drink had nothing to do with their deaths and actually prolonged their lives because it thinned the incredible amounts of booze these people drank.

Really, if people don’t know when to stop, maybe it’s simply evolution at work; thinning the herd by natural selection. I’m not militant about anti-alcoholism. Actually, in my youth, I drank a damn lot. However, I only once in my entire life drank to the point of blacking out as a teenager. And as snobbish and holier-than-thou as it may sound, I did it in a responsible way – at home, with no school the next day, to see what it is like. I found out I didn’t like it and the aftermath wasn’t worth the experience at all. I never once missed school or work because of drinking the day before. I never did “stuff I couldn’t remember” or “stuff I did because I was drunk and then regretted it”. The worst thing I ever did because I was drunk was planning a vacation with some guys I couldn’t stand sober. Needless to say, we never went on that trip, so no harm done.

At age 21 – ironically – I decided I don’t want to drink anymore at all. Not because I thought I was addicted or because I did something awful or anything like that. It was simple logic. I had calculated how many DVDs I can buy with the money I used for drinks in clubs. Overpriced drinks in clubs I only went to to drink and rant about the music, people and prices of the drinks. In other words, it was way more efficient to buy DVDs I liked sober, watch them at home, with people and music I liked sober and buy snacks and drinks at regular prices. That realization was 11 years ago. In the meantime, I did have a beer or something here and there, but on average, I’m perfectly sober on 360 out of 365 days a year. And have shitloads of DVDs.

I certainly don’t expect everyone to follow my example. I also don’t mind if others drink, go to clubs and whatnot. But I also can’t help to think it’s their fault if they don’t know when to stop and drink to the point of blacking out or even dying.

Caffeine and especially energy drinks, on the other hand, are my addiction. My voluntary addiction and my lifeline. I really made a concious choice to get myself hooked on Red Bull when I was 15. I didn’t like the taste at first, at least not in large quantities, so I forced several cans down my throat. Because I had also figured out that caffeine had the opposite effect on me than legends claim it has on most people. My parents raised me with the same damn orange lemonade for my entire youth. The only drink with caffeine I got was Coca Cola, when staying at my aunt’s and uncle’s house. I figured out that it wasn’t some magic that made me sleep better there – it was drinking cola all day. Where my mom went “OMAIGAWD if you drink cola, you can’t sleep!”, my aunt was more liberal about that. I could never really sleep anyway – except when I drank a lot cola during the day. In my childhood, doctors had the (ridicolous) theory that I had the biological rhythm of the opposite side of the planet and this was the reason I couldn’t sleep at night – because it felt like daytime to me. Of course that’s bullshit, but it did help me to make the connection between “caffeine” and “opposite effect”.

During my teenage years, I experimented with caffeine and especially Red Bull and Flying Horse – the only available energy drinks back then – instead of drugs, like the average rebel teenager does. I managed to regulate my sleeping pattern and attention span by that. It sure never became a healthy pattern – staying up to the point of total exhaustion with Red Bull, then kickstarting myself with Red Bull after a near-comatose sleep. But it did get me through school, it did keep me functional and it did help me to regulate and develop at least healthy amounts of sleep. Red Bull pulled off what none of the countless sleeping pills and doctors managed to do.

Of course, back then, the assumption “has opposite effect” was the only thing I had to work with. Many years and hours of research later, I know it’s no coincidence and caffeine is in many cases an effective way to deal with ADHD. The “opposite effect” is a fact for many people, it’s not me being a freak of nature. In the light of that, it seems utterly ridicolous and biased to me to blame energy drinks for the death of 4 morons who didn’t know when to stop drinking booze.

Advertisement

Who would you be if the world went to hell?

In her article over at fallingskiesblog, fellow author BethTX makes a strong point for why Ben Mason is one hell of a character. I agree about this fact; the writers and actor Connor Jessup do a damn fine job there. However, while reading the article, I found myself realizing that the reason “we viewers can identify with Ben” doesn’t apply. And that, on paper, it really should apply.

I do not wish to bore anyone with tales from my teenage years, but I need to go there for a short moment to explain. So I was a rebellious teenager who, like any other teenager, thought the world would never understand the first thing about me. Now I’m over 30 and the world is still mostly at a loss, which may lead me to think I got a point back then. Truth is, I don’t know and I also don’t care if the world gets me. However, to put things in perspective: I ran away from home at age 14, lived on sofas and in alternative communes with punks, anarchists and (red/S.H.A.R.P.) skins for years, “grew up faster than others because I had to”, am diagnosed with schizoid personality disorder and defy all odds with the triple A – being asexual, aromantic, agendered. I do get the grasp of feeling like an alien, in every nuance available. And without playing my own experiences up or other people’s teenage years down, I think my past qualifies for something else than “omg my parents are so mean, no-one understands me” teenage issues.

Ben Mason, a teenager who lost his mother in a freaking alien invasion, got captured and brainwashed by aliens and then turned out to develop scary levels of superhuman powers, should give me something to connect with. If nothing else, the feeling to be different and the attempt to fit in, the pretending and hiding of things others wouldn’t begin to understand. I have spend the better part of my youth pretending to be something I’m not. Most of all, however, I pretended to give a shit. Because, usually I don’t. Any attempt to fit in was for my convenience, not to really “fit in”. Tired of explaining that I don’t have “crushes” or any aspirations to be in a romantic relationship? Pretend I’m your average straight person, randomly pick some celebs people around me find “hot” and claim I find them “hot”, too. Tired of explaining that yes, I do appreciate this birthday gift, but my appreciation doesn’t inspire me to jump around and hug people? Fake a smile, play along, be done with it. It boils down to “being tired of explaining things you don’t get anyway” and “yeah, whatever, leave me in peace”. I never had any illusions people would sit down, hear me out and be okay with it at some point.

Ben Mason, he is truly desperate to make people understand how he feels. For acceptance, trust and community; proving his loyalty and that he only wants the best for his people. I give a shit as long as people just don’t get on my nerves and I frankly don’t bother with “what’s best for them”. “What’s best for me” is perfectly enough, and that is usually “I don’t get what the fuzz is about, so go tell your problems to someone else”. It’s not out of spite or because I’m such a cold bastard. It’s because I really, honestly don’t understand those things. Breaking up with a partner of 3 years? People will go through weird phases like trying to analyze why the relationship didn’t work out, worry that they “can never love again”, being allround sad and crushed. Me? Find new sofa to crash on, end of story. I know, I know, it sounds sad, but it isn’t – for me, it isn’t. I get it, I’m pretty different from the majority when it comes to such things. And that’s fine, I don’t expect the majority to change for me. It’s not all bad to be different anyway. One of my very best friends comes to me for relationship advice specifically because it will be rational and brutally honest. That is because I couldn’t give any other advice – I’d never say “listen to your heart” because people suspect I don’t even have one. (I do, I once saw it on an x-ray.) So in a nutshell, I cannot relate to Ben’s desire for understanding because I never had it, despite my being different.

I can also see what Ben is doing when he hides his glowy spikes or pretends he didn’t watch the time when he did 200 freaking push ups. He tries to not scare people; to fit in and be part of a group. Well, that’s the very thing that drives me nuts. My reaction to getting weird ass superpowers? Yay, now I can run off into the woods, survive on my own without depending on others to find food, weapons and shelter and other humans will run from me in fear! That’s awesome! You see, whenever I faked to be a sane, average person, I could keep it up for a while. I became quite efficient at it, down to faking to be a social butterfly who knows everyone and their mother; all while truly giving a damn. It was the neccessary thing to do to be good in my job, so I made the sacrifice the situation demanded. And then, I went into major burn out syndrome because a social butterfly is simply not who I am and playing a role almost 24/7 wears you down. Getting the magical ability to be efficient at what needs to be done – in case of an alien invasion, that would be “surviving” and “fighting for my life” – without the need to deal with people would be a freaking revelation. And what Ben did for the better part of the show was the exact opposite of what I would do.

Enter Pope – here’s the character I do relate to, along with the bits and pieces of Dai and Anthony we were shown so far. No, Pope doesn’t struggle with alien superpowers that make people fear him; he doesn’t have the entire inner conflict of being different and trying to fit in. And that’s the point: He doesn’t try. People percieve him as a jerk and he’s okay with that. That is who I am. Sure, I’m likely percieved as a jerk for different reasons – I have the psych evaluation to show for it. But I have never thought of myself as a freak, as “ill” or that “something is wrong with me”. At best, I thought something is wrong with everyone else, because hey, I’m fine with the way I am. I am, indeed, okay with being kind of a jerk. Pope is more likely to ask “what the hell is wrong with you people” than having some inner monologue about his desperation regarding people not accepting or liking him. To me, he doesn’t give off a “what an asshole” vibe. I get a “ah, finally, sanity!” vibe from him because he does pretty much what I would do. Call bull when the situation warrants it, regardless if people want to hear it. Fend for himself and himself alone. Not having true loyalties, not even his own brother. (My brother isn’t quite the jerk Billy was, but damn, he’s close.)

So, if the world went to hell, I wouldn’t be like Ben. I’d be a chain-smoking version of Pope, and I’d be making more sarcastic remarks with pop culture references. And you’d better pray I wouldn’t get superpowers like Ben, because I’d be the most unlikely person to use them for your sake. While you were out there, afraid and alone, in an alien infested city, trying to find something to eat… I’d be jumping from roof top to roof top, in a silly, over-the-top superhero costume, throwing plasma TVs from skyscrapers, for the lulz. You need this fuel to transport your merry band of survivors to a safer haven? Well, fuck you, I need the fuel to make a flaming Punisher skull on this public place because it will look awesome at night. You need this canned food to feed starving children? Well, fuck you twice, I need the cans to shoot at them because I’m the Amazing Super Redneck (until I make a new costume).

Oops. I got sidetracked by my world domination fantasies up there. In a nutshell, I’d be a total jerk in a post apocalypse scenario. I’d be worse than Pope. And he’d be the one I’d come back for to save his ass, because he’d be the one most likely to become my supervillain sidekick. I’m not a hero. (Well, not that kind of hero.) I’m not someone struggling to fit in. I’d be mayhem, as irresponsible and “bad” it would be – from your point of view, heroic survivor with nothing but the well-being of your followers in mind. And that’s why I can’t identify with Ben. He’s a hero, I’m a jerk. And that’s my saving grace: At least, I’m honest about it. You’re warned: Do not, under no circumstances, depend on me if the world goes to hell. Because I’ll go with it.

WTFsapiolithromantic?!

I hereby wish to distance myself from asexuals on various online platforms who keep coming up with ridicolous new labels all the time.Let me explain why.

I am asexual. I am not attracted to people in a sexual way. I do not think of people as “hot”, “sexy” or “I’d hit that”. That’s easy enough to distinguish from the other sexual orientations out there. At least in my book, there are only:

• Heterosexual: Attracted to the opposite sex
• Homosexual: Attracted to the own sex
• Bisexual: Attracted to both opposite and own sex
• Pansexual: Attracted to people regardless of sex (including transsexual, intersex and other non-binary people)
• Asexual: Not attracted to anyone

Adding to the “who”-attractions, there are a couple of terms defining the “how”, such as demisexual (experiencing only secondary sexual attraction, i.e. only after having an emotional bond with someone, often friendship) and the grey area (low and/or rare sexual attraction, simplified); as well as mono- and poly- prefixes, stating if monogamy or polygamy applies. One can be heterosexual and demisexual; experiencing attraction to the opposite sex after forming emotional bonds. It’s simple enough as a system to label.

When it comes to romantic orientation, things get more difficult. Naturally, romantic attraction has the platonic counterparts to the sexual orientations and definers, which are still easy to understand. A sexual orientation states who you like to bang, a romantic orientation states who you fall in love with. The problem, however, is that for a vast majority of people, these two orientations match. Most heterosexuals are also heteroromantic, for example. Therefore, a vast majority of people is confused if the orientations do not match, i.e. an asexual person who has no desire for sex, but still wants a romantic relationship.

It is confusing enough as it is to people who are neither asexual nor aromantic. Why oh why make it even more confusing by making up new labels for every slight variation on the spectrum? Is it so hard to explain yourself in a few words that you need a label for everything? And that requires basically everyone you meet to read a dictionary – one in a constant state of change, no less – to understand what the hell you are talking about? “Sapiosexual”, for example, doesn’t mean that one is attracted to neanderthals or bipedal beings, it means “attracted to intelligence”. Seriously? I never met anyone who was turned on by stupidity. “Lithromantics” do explicitly not wish their romantic feelings to be returned, or even fear this might happen. Which doesn’t change the basic romantic attraction and is just a horribly specific way to say “doesn’t desire a romantic relationship”. And the latest trendy label is, in all seriousness, called “wtfromantic”, which no-one can explain better than “having weird crushes and being kinda aromantic”. Yes, that’s exactly what it sounds like.

If I would use all labels that somehow apply to me, I would end up with a list that fills a page. And after reading it, no-one would be one bit smarter than before and I would have to explain every single, specific term to define who I am attracted to in what way, to what degree and how I would like the person to react to it. Therefore, I stick with aromantic – I don’t “fall in love” and desire no romantic relationships. Simple enough, without having to define why exactly I feel that way, how I feel about people instead and whatnot.

When was the last time you met a heterosexual Ordinary Joe who gave you a book to read when asked what his orientation is? Who ever split “hetero” in “hetero with a strong preference for blondes, but only in long distance relationships (phone communication, weekly) and average school grades of x”? Right, no-one does that because it’s unneccessarily complicated. Maybe I just don’t get it because I don’t have the classic sexual or romantic attraction, and hence see no need to specify my preferences in every detail. But I do have social preferences; things I look for in a friend or someone I look up to. Know what? Either my criteria are met or they aren’t. No labeling myself as “roflcoptersocial” will change that – social interaction doesn’t work that way. Neither does romantic or sexual orientation. It’s a gamble every single time you meet a new person if you ‘click’ with them, have similar preferences for the possible relationship or not. Life isn’t a dating site where you meet everyone based on a checklist and a “looking for” essay.

Coming up with complicated and highly specific labels does nothing to help you. It’s not helping to be taken serious either. Identifying as lmaosexual demi-hollaifyouhearmeromantic just makes you look like a highschool hipster who desperately tries to be “mysterious, exotic and interesting”. And the only thing that label tells me is: I want nothing to do with you.

So there. I am an aromantic asexual. The strongest affectionate emotions I develop for people are friendship and admiration. That’s all I have to say, label-wise, and I really really don’t care what you new hip bumper sticker is supposed to tell me about your social interactions. It doesn’t.

 

Things I didn’t say

Sometimes, people miss a chance to say really important things and they regret it all their life. It’s a truly horrible feeling to look back and wonder “what if”, and know deep inside that there will never be an answer.

And sometimes, people say what they have to say; at the right time, in the right place, to the right person, for the right reasons. Yet it is impossible to predict the future; how things will turn out years down the road. Sometimes, an afterthought remains; things you just couldn’t say, couldn’t know, couldn’t even guess at the given time.

This post is such an afterthought. I know with certainty that I have said and done the right thing, years ago. I know that everything that had to be said was said, heard and understood. This chapter is closed, with no regrets, no “what if”s. This afterthought may or may not reach the person it is meant for. And just like I have no doubts about the past, I have no doubt that – if this is the right thing to say – it will reach this person, at the right time, for the right reasons.

About 8 years ago, I was in a very wrong place. I did not really realize how wrong it was. I told myself it was the best place in the entire world; exactly where I wanted to be. I had made a dream come true for myself, and I wanted it to be ‘right’. But the thing with dreams is that not all are meant to be lived. Some are better if you keep dreaming them because reality doesn’t live up to them. This was such a dream. If I had been honest with myself, I wouldn’t have known where to begin with the things that were not the way I had hoped. I was Don Quixote, fighting windmills, and even though I realized – deep inside – how futile it was, I told myself that I just have to try harder to make everything ‘right’. Just, the everything didn’t want to be changed. The world just wouldn’t bend at my will. And so I played along with all it’s wrongs because, hey, I was living my dream; why would I ever want to give it up? I had given my everything for this life. It was worth everything to keep living it, wasn’t it?

It was not. One day, I encountered the one wrong I could not accept. A wrong that didn’t even involve me personally. It would have been easy, so damn easy, to look away one more time and convince myself the dream was worth the weird feeling in my stomach. But I couldn’t do that. Not this time. Deep inside, I knew I could make up for everything else later; could make things right somehow. Everything, but not this. And so I gave my dream for the sake of a stranger; to prevent a wrong that wouldn’t have any consequences for me – except the feeling that I would never be able to look into a mirror again if I did nothing. I faced my worst fears; I put all the hope I had left in my realm of shattered dreams into this one moment and trusted that it would make a difference for someone I didn’t even know. It was my last chance to wake up from the dream – by breaking it in one truly selfless act of hope.

I know, I know, it sounds melodramatic. In fact, it was. I only realized it later, when I read a graphic novel – Midnight Nation – what had really happened. The protagonist of this story ends up giving his soul to a doomed stranger he knows nearly nothing about, knowing that he will remain soulless, but that breaking the habit of leaving the doomed doomed and living as if nothing ever happened will send a sign of hope to the world. By dooming himself and giving his soul to the hopeless, he ultimately saves himself, too. That is what happened to me. I gave up my dream to restore hope in a place where it was nearly unheard of.

Unlike the protagnists of Midnight Nation, we did not remain strangers. We shared thoughts and observations, and even if we didn’t stay in touch for very long – just a few months – I still think of us as kindred souls. We had lost our way in the same area, had lived out our dreams and had found them not to be what we were really looking for. We had found the right path, almost around the same time, and we were heading in a similar direction.

Yes, my friend, I helped you out in a tough spot. You know why I did it, where I struggled, what I ultimately sacrificed. You helped me through that dark alley, and you know you did. But what you don’t know is how much the two simple words “thank you” meant to me. Sometimes, people ask me how I made my peace with the past; how I can so easily admit I made mistakes and know for certain I set things right in the end. The letter you sent about 5 years ago is the first thing that comes to my mind. No matter how painful some memories are, knowing that I made a difference for you makes up for it all. You were the one person who reminded me of who I really am. That I was not the monster I sometimes saw in the mirror.

If this letter finds you, I’m sure you’ll know it’s for you. Just like I’m sure you’ll know who I was when I first contacted you. And thanks to you, I’m much better now.

 

 

(in a totally non-sexual way, of course)

If you happen to find yourself in a forum that discusses mainly the subjects of “watching porn”, “masturbation”, “kinks and fetishes”, “yaoi fanfiction”, “body fluids” and “jokes about sex”, what would you assume the forum’s topic was? Probably not that it is the “official” asexuality forum, right? Neither would I. But a majority of the self-proclaimed “asexuals” on AVEN seems to see it differently and happily posts away. Now, there are so many problems with that – and other things – on AVEN that I have a hard time to know where to begin. Mind you, saying any of these things on AVEN self will only result in warnings and bans, so it’s probably a pointless rant anyway.

Thing is, AVEN is supposed to be the first address for information about asexuality. It’s the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network, after all. Unlike other minorities – gay or transsexual people, for example – asexuals have to deal with far less open discrimination. The biggest issue is not being taken serious. If you tell people you’re not attracted to anyone, most will tell you that it’s “just a phase”, you haven’t met “the right person” yet and similar things. People simply don’t believe it’s really a thing. And I can see how it is confusing to them, if a majority of the world’s population has a need for sexual intimacy. It’s easier to relate to a homosexual person, who has other preferences than the hetero-majority, but still desires the same basic thing. Asexuals don’t and they are rare – estimations speak of 1 % of the world’s population – and therefore aren’t really “visible”. The worst kind of visibility is the kind that reinforces the “it’s just a phase”, “you haven’t met the right person” and “you’re just frigid/ill/depressed” thoughts. And that is exactly what the AVEN forum does.

I am asexual. And not even I can take it serious what’s going on there. I shake my head at nearly every posting made there. I should feel welcome, understood and among likeminded people there, but I don’t.

One reason may be that I’m not a teenage girl. Or a teenage boy, at least. Excuse my bluntness, but at age 15, you are not “totally certain” about anything. Not about who you are, what you want or what your sexual orientation is. At that age, you just hit puberty. Of course you are confused about many things, and of course a lot things are new and have to be figured out over time. Yet teenagers are by far the most outspoken and “visible” asexuals. With the ridicolous AVEN policy “use any label you see fit; sexuality is fluid, if it doesn’t feel right anymore in a few years, just take a different label”, that is the perfect breeding ground for “it’s just a phase”. How can people take asexuality serious as an orientation if the asexuals they see or know just drop the label at age 17 after “meeting the right person”? That confirms that it was “just a phase”. Are we such a minority that we have to hand out our label to everyone, if it applies or not, just to get “members” for our exclusive club? That seems to be the AVEN policy. I don’t see what would be wrong about telling people “yes, you are indeed too young to know; wait a few years until you figure things out”. I don’t see why people would need a label – any label – so bad.

This problem is closely related to “OMAI I’m so Aspie!” Every third AVEN poster claims to have Asperger’s Syndrome, a rare personality disorder (bipolar is quite popular this year) or both. Confused, moody teenagers running around and claiming various medical conditions for themselves; like trophies to brag with, results in people not taking the conditions serious anymore. And people who actually have them will be seen as “just another poser who wants attention” – instead of getting the help they need.

But dare to say that on AVEN. There’s a ultra super duper political correctness policy, too. You have to be tolerant about everything. I often wonder if these people are really that far gone and actually really tolerate these things, or if they just nod and think “what a freak” to themselves. Let me give you an example. This documentary deals with very, very confused people who believe that they have telepathic powers that enable them to communicate with dead objects, mostly buildings of various types. They have romantic and sexual relationships with these objects. (In their heads, anyway.) It includes people actually being married to the Eiffel Tower, the Berlin Wall and a rollercoaster. The average person, no matter if hetero-, homo- or bisexual will likely react with “what the fuck?” or “these poor, sick people”. Not AVEN. The AVEN reaction is “oh, interesting, I wonder if they could be considered asexual too, since they aren’t attracted to people”. Yup, let’s go ahead and hold our umbrella over every weirdo’s head, simply overlook that they have a shitload of mental issues and embrace them into our family. Seriously?

And it’s not limited to people who are sexually attracted to freaking buildings. According to AVEN, it is totally possible – hell, even fairly common – for asexuals to have kinks and fetishes. All while not feeling sexual attraction. That’s an oxymoron to me – if you’re not attracted to anything or anyone, how would you have a fetish? A fetish is something certain people require to achieve sexual satisfaction. They are attracted to whatever their fetish is. You can hardly have a foot fetish and not feel sexual attraction at the same time. Except on AVEN, where the senseless is the norm.

AVEN users can do a damn lot things that you would consider connected to sexual attraction “in a non-sexual way”. For example, discuss totally non-sexual BDSM fantasies about popular actors and fictional characters, who you are attracted to “in a non-sexual way”. Or read and write yaoi smut fanfiction about them “in a non-sexual way”. Talk about your compulsive, non-sexual masturbation habits. Brag with how you are, out of all your friends, the most perverted one – in a non-sexual way, of course. Find likeminded, non-sexual people who share your non-sexual furry guro fetish. Or share the non-sexual joy and reasons to watch non-sexual hardcore porn.

Doesn’t make sense to you? Same here. Whenever I visit AVEN, as an asexual person, I feel like I’m entering the seventh circle of kink hell; the part of purgatory where the most obsessively horny perverts are thrown. Reading all that, I can totally see how asexuality isn’t taken serious and looks like it’s a new trendy term invented by teenage girls that are horribly, horribly curious about sex, but not quite ready to explore it in person: “just a phase”.

It is also curious how all the “non-sexual” obsessions seem to evolve around the same actors and characters every other fangirl is obsessed with. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but there is no difference between the fan art section of DeviantArt (aka Fangirl Hell), Fanfiction.net (aka 9th Circle of Hell) and AVEN – it’s full of teenagers lusting over the same people. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. House, Loki, “Sheldon from Big Bang Theory”, Dr. Who… just the AVEN population drools “in a non-sexual way”. Yes, they really add that a LOT.

And last but not least, there is the issue of the ever-returning “Am I asexual because x?” topics, that are heavily discussed whenever they pop up. “Am I asexual because I was abused as a child?” “Am I asexual because I have a hormone imbalance?” “Am I asexual because (whatever)?” What message does that send? That not even asexuals believe their orientation is a real orientation. That it is something “bad” or “wrong” that needs to be “fixed”. (Many of these topics come in the disguise of “How can I be fixed?”) People usually don’t question things that they are aware of, yet don’t see as “bad”. Who really spends time to ponder “Why am I red haired?” or “Why do I have blue eyes?” People acknowledge they are, but they aren’t trying to “fix” it, except maybe dyeing their hair or wear contacts, if they would rather be different. No-one loses sleep over the question “Why do I NOT have cancer?” or “Why did my house NOT burn down?” Permanently pondering what the hell is “wrong” and how it can be “fixed” just says that people do NOT think of their orientation as legitimate and really just that – an orientation like any other. To me, it’s just the way it is. I couldn’t change it if I tried or wanted anyway, just like I can’t magically make myself another ethnicity. And it’s a waste of time to try. I rather spend my time to think about things that are possible. And in the end, my sexual orientation – or lack of one, if you will – is a pretty small part of who I am. I see no need to poke around in this tiny fraction every waking moment, because there are simply things that are by far more important to me.

The interesting part is: I’m not alone with these views. I know other asexuals – romantics, aromantics, demi/gray spectrum, male, female, genderless – who are not on AVEN. They all have one thing in common with me: They feel like aliens on AVEN; puzzled why a forum for and about asexuals is full of sexual topics and horny teenagers. Maybe that is because we are no teenagers, yes. But I tend to think it’s more because we are asexual, and a vast majority of the AVEN users are confused kids that assume exotic labels to feel more special.

Second Hand Emotions

Many people can’t imagine what it is like to see the world through a looking glass – detached, not a part of the “big picture”, but the beholder. It goes both ways. It took me a while to figure out why I always felt there was an invisible wall between me and others; what made it so hard to relate to people: People have emotions that vary more than “meh, that sucks (but whatever, life goes on” and “guess that’s nice (but whatever, life goes on)”.

My own emotional life can be illustrated with a mostly straight line. I don’t know what it feels like to be “so happy you want to hug the entire world” or “so sad you wanna die”. Especially when I was younger, I often felt left out when others around me experienced strong emotions. Expressing joy or anger or sadness feels unnatural to me, like performing for an audience. I never understood why people expected me to laugh and jump around like a maniac to show I was happy about something, or to scream and stomp to show I wasn’t.

As a child, I had no idea that other people really felt like doing these things and it came, in fact, naturally to them. I thought everyone was putting up some act because parents and older relatives expected it; something like saying “Bless you” or “Gesundheit” after someone sneezed.

When I grew older, I began to realize that people did not simply stick to a social convention because it was expected of them. And that I was still acting for simplicity; to be understood by others. I laughed when there were funny scenes in movies so no-one would ask why I didn’t find them funny. I expressed sadness when someone told me about bad things that happened to them. But on the inside, there was apathy. I rarely gave a shit either way; I didn’t find most movies to be very funny and I wasn’t touched by the misfortune either. I tried to fit in, but I was the square in the circle.

Looking back, my attempt to get behind the motivation of others to express their emotions, or only their ability to have them, was a subconcious reason to get fascinated with horror movies. Those were the films advertised as being “thrilling”, “the scariest movie ever” and “will leave you sleepless”. In a way, they claimed to provide strong emotions. And I was somehow hoping that I only needed something to “wake me up” from my apathy – a big bang that would unlock the door to my emotional storage; and after that, I would feel like everyone else. Obviously, it doesn’t work that way, but I found my theory to be sound. Why it didn’t work? Simple answer. I hadn’t found my “big bang”. I was 12 or 13 when I made it my declared goal to find the movie that would do that.

Mind you, I still haven’t found this movie 20 years later. It really doesn’t work that way. But over the years, I have made my peace with the “flattened affect” in regards to my emotions. (That’s what the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders calls it.)

First of all, the internet has made things a lot easier for me. In Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences, I’m the linguistic type. Expressing my emotions with words feels more natural than the social obligation to smile or frown to make myself clear. And if all fails, I can always fall back to smilies and emoctions. Many people say that online communication can never replace real life face-to-face contact because it lacks of body language, expressions and nuances in spoken language. Well, I do lack those things face to face. Taking them away from others online just levels the playing field.

The wonderful world wide web is the answer to many of my limitations. While “real” people in direct proximity drive me insane in no time, “virtual” people don’t. My online friendships are a lot closer than any I had in “real life”, where I can’t do the things I need to do to keep my sanity: withdraw, at any given time, with nothing but a click. Face to face interaction is very draining for me – I have to perform the things that are unnatural to me, I have to try to read those things in others and react accordingly. I have to pretend to have a lot emotions I simply don’t have.

I have also become a student of human behavior, emotions and social interactions. From an observer’s point of view. I try to learn and to understand how people “tick”. Often, it leaves me puzzled, yes. But my attempts to understand also gave me a different perspective. I can appreciate the rare emotions I experience where others take them for granted or even wish they wouldn’t feel them. I treasure them all; the good, the bad, the ugly. It is a small treasure chest, but each piece reminds me that, despite all the differences, I’m still human. Each piece is a success in my quest to find out what emotions really feel like; the universe being one step closer to figure itself out.

I treasure the moment I felt genuine disgust when reading the novel “The 34th Rule“. I treasure the deep and utter sadness when watching “The Wrestler“. I treasure the pain and the anger I felt when watching Varro’s death in Spartacus – Blood and Sand. More than anything, I treasure the Babylon 5 scene – pity, despair, sadness, bitterness – when G’Kar tells Londo he forgives him. Others may find these things depressing and hard to watch, and I agree – and that is a rare thing; that I can truly agree, with first hand experience instead of hearsay emotions. Yes, I also treasure more uplifting moments, and not only scenes from movies and books, but my own life. But then, who doesn’t? The ability to see the beauty in the tragedy is the blessing of (what others percieve as) my curse.

Judging by my own collection of emotional treasures, I wouldn’t want to be any other way.