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I accidentally fell down a rabbit hole the other day when I followed a Wikipedia link to articles on lesbian pulp fiction. Two reviews I found for a book called The Loveliest of Friends (both written in 1931, a time I should not look to for compassion nor understanding when it comes to homosexuality) did not shy away from seeing being gay as a horrific thing you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

As I’ve gotten older, I still believe firmly that you cannot change your sexuality or be cured of being gay. I believe it with all my soul. When I was sent to ex-gay therapy by my parents, it almost destroyed me.

On the other hand, as I've gotten older I've also realized I no longer have the energy nor the care to fight what others think about sexuality or LGBTQ+ issues. I'm worn down by fear and weariness. It's exhausting defending your existence to others or trying to explain things.

"Asexual? What's that."

Or if people do know what it is, they just assume you were either traumatized by something as a young person or you haven't met the right person yet.

It's been three years since I last had strong feelings for someone, three years free of emotional torment or romantic longing. And while I'm not physically attracted to anyone nor attractive myself, those are not the reasons I have no interest in sex.

It's more complicated than that, but it's also not anything that terribly troubles me. I'm pretty sure I'd be this way if I were gorgeous and full of self-confidence.

I deeply understand and get that sex matters to a lot of people in this world. I think that's great and wonderful. It just doesn't matter to me. You'd think not having sex and not wanting it would be fairly controversial-free. But asexuality (usually delegated to the plus part of LGBTQ) is often a hot button issue for some.