Aro Essay

[Jeeperz_]

This is a personal essay I wrote for one of my classes about being aromantic and asexual. I hope you like it.

 

Something Is Not Right

    The whole world started to fracture around me. The grime of Nate's couch, the itch of his woolen blankets, the stench of weed, a place so unfamiliar to me and my mind was revolting against it all. I had always suspected there was something wrong with me, like a storm rising within, from around the fourth grade. It came stumbling onto me at that moment, a cascade of panic and wrongness punching me right in the face, knocking me down swiftly and mocking me happily. I leaned over the side of the dirty beige couch; I drank metallic water from the stained glass cup and it gave me little comfort. I tried to focus on the buzzing TV, my heavy breathing, anything to distract myself from the body heavy atop me and what every single person in my life seemed to want me to do. What I should want to do, I reminded myself, you want this. I pushed down the lump in my throat. 

    The ride here had been long and uninviting. We hummed along in Dane’s old car, listening to bad pop mixed with country off her personal playlist through old speakers that jittered at the change of each song. It was dead middle of the night, the roads pitch black and frightening, only dulled by the occasional honey-colored streetlamp. It was just the three of us, Maci, Dane, and I. They laughed at the absurdist idea: we’re driving a whole hour so that Dane could bang her boyfriend. But of course that wasn’t all, of course, that couldn’t be it all. They both stressed on every occasion that Maci and I would have the downstairs couch all to ourselves, making it very clear the expectations for the night. So they went on talking of sex and the adjacent; I, the strangeness of it all.

    I suppose it’d be a lie if I said it was just them. For the past few weeks, every acquaintance I knew came up to me under the fluorescent glow of the hallway lights to weigh in on my love life. ‘She likes you, you know’, from our closest friends, band kids with bright shocks of tacky dyed hair or the people they dragged along that we barely put up with. ‘She did these things, you know’, from people who almost knew me, concerned citizens almost always looking for drama. But worst of all, ‘Are you really considering this?’ from the people who only knew of me, the people who knew all too well the world of trouble I was getting myself into. Words flew by more wildly every day, the rumors growing in a violent symphony, low whispers following me everywhere I went. Despite how bad it was getting on the outside, our inner friend group stayed warm to the idea. They giggled like schoolgirls, asking for the gory details, everyone waiting on me to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. Slowly, the thought formed in my head, growing more concrete every time I gave it attention: give the people what they want.

    So there I was. For preparing to do something so adult, I was feeling so very small. It felt like I was nine years old again, watching everyone around me get crushes and write love letters. What it felt like most of all, was that I was out of place, the fifth corner piece in a battered puzzle, something wrong. She was on me, and I was climbing out of my skin. I stood in front of me, watching it all happen. I saw my hands move awkwardly, a combination of panic and inexperience, watched the TV blast pale, almost sickly light on us. I listened to the sounds coming from upstairs, hollow creaks of bed frames and floorboards, things that made me uncomfortable to even imagine, observed the condensation forming on the glass, little drops of clear liquid contrasting the calcium stains riddling it. I did anything to distract me from what was really happening. I dragged it along, stretching out every move I made, blocking any progression she tried. I could do this, I could run out the clock. If I was in any better frame of mind I would have probably told myself to get it over with. Push through, this is what people do after all. But something primal came over me. It turned into survival, a matter of life and death. I was a stark white rabbit, hiding poorly in the bushes and waiting for a bigger, badder predator to chase away the one hunting me.

    But just like that, it was all over. Dane and Nate came back down, everyone made their disappointment known, but it was over. I went to bed alone that night, lying and saying that my mom needed me just to escape another night sleeping in the too-soft bed of a woman everyone seemed to want me to sleep with. Laying by myself, alone in my too-big bed and too-plush blanket, everything caught up to me. The storm building within me started to overflow, trickling down my face in large tears and solidifying everything I had been feeling. Something is not right, my brain rasped in a foul screech, this is not what people feel. I found myself on the same website that seemed to haunt me, something I knew in my soul but denied in my mind. Arocalypse: welcome and forum rules.

[MaxIsCosmic]

I can only relate to parts of this being a Demi-ro with different life experiences but I understand the “something is not right”. This whole essay is beautifully written and conveys so much emotion in your words it makes me feel emotions I went through of not feeling normal and the pang in my heart that came with that. All in all this is an amazing piece and I’m so glad you found a community here with everyone including myself. 

[williamwill009]

On 12/13/2023 at 6:10 PM, Jeeperz_ said:

This is a personal essay I wrote for one of my classes about being aromantic and asexual. I hope you like it.

 

Something Is Not Right

    The whole world started to fracture around me. The grime of Nate's couch, the itch of his woolen blankets, the stench of weed, a place so unfamiliar to me and my mind was revolting against it all. I had always suspected there was something wrong with me, like a storm rising within, from around the fourth grade. It came stumbling onto me at that moment, a cascade of panic and wrongness punching me right in the face, knocking me down swiftly and mocking me happily. I leaned over the side of the dirty beige couch; I drank metallic water from the stained glass cup and it gave me little comfort. I tried to focus on the buzzing TV, my heavy breathing, anything to distract myself from the body heavy atop me and what every single person in my life seemed to want me to do. What I should want to do, I reminded myself, you want this. I pushed down the lump in my throat. 

    The ride here had been long and uninviting. We hummed along in Dane’s old car, listening to bad pop mixed with country off her personal playlist through old speakers that jittered at the change of each song. It was dead middle of the night, the roads pitch black and frightening, only dulled by the occasional honey-colored streetlamp. It was just the three of us, Maci, Dane, and I. They laughed at the absurdist idea: we’re driving a whole hour so that Dane could bang her boyfriend. But of course that wasn’t all, of course, that couldn’t be it all. They both stressed on every occasion that Maci and I would have the downstairs couch all to ourselves, making it very clear the expectations for the night. So they went on talking of sex and the adjacent; I, the strangeness of it all.

    I suppose it’d be a lie if I said it was just them. For the past few weeks, every acquaintance I knew came up to me under the fluorescent glow of the hallway lights to weigh in on my love life. ‘She likes you, you know’, from our closest friends, band kids with bright shocks of tacky dyed hair or the people they dragged along that we barely put up with. ‘She did these things, you know’, from people who almost knew me, concerned citizens almost always looking for drama. But worst of all, ‘Are you really considering this?’ from the people who only knew of me, the people who knew all too well the world of trouble I was getting myself into. Words flew by more wildly every day, the rumors growing in a violent symphony, low whispers following me everywhere I went. Despite how bad it was getting on the outside, our inner friend group stayed warm to the idea. They giggled like schoolgirls, asking for the gory details, everyone waiting on me to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. Slowly, the thought formed in my head, growing more concrete every time I gave it attention: give the people what they want.

    So there I was. For preparing to do something so adult, I was feeling so very small. It felt like I was nine years old again, watching everyone around me get crushes and write love letters. What it felt like most of all, was that I was out of place, the fifth corner piece in a battered puzzle, something wrong. She was on me, and I was climbing out of my skin. I stood in front of me, watching it all happen. I saw my hands move awkwardly, a combination of panic and inexperience, watched the TV blast pale, almost sickly light on us. I listened to the sounds coming from upstairs, hollow creaks of bed frames and floorboards, things that made me uncomfortable to even imagine, observed the condensation forming on the glass, little drops of clear liquid contrasting the calcium stains riddling it. I did anything to distract me from what was really happening. I dragged it along, stretching out every move I made, blocking any progression she tried. I could do this, I could run out the clock. If I was in any better frame of mind I would have probably told myself to get it over with. Push through, this is what people do after all. But something primal came over me. It turned into survival, a matter of life and death. I was a stark white rabbit, hiding poorly in the bushes and waiting for a bigger, badder predator to chase away the one hunting me.

    But just like that, it was all over. Dane and Nate came back down, everyone made their disappointment known, but it was over. I went to bed alone that night, lying and saying that my mom needed me just to escape another night sleeping in the too-soft bed of a woman everyone seemed to want me to sleep with. Laying by myself, alone in my too-big bed and too-plush blanket, everything caught up to me. The storm building within me started to overflow, trickling down my face in large tears and solidifying everything I had been feeling. Something is not right, my brain rasped in a foul screech, this is not what people feel. I found myself on the same website that seemed to haunt me, something I knew in my soul but denied in my mind. Arocalypse: welcome and forum rules.



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Your experience and feelings in this situation are very personal and important. You seem to feel alienated and uncomfortable in situations that society considers normal, especially when it comes to intimate relationships. It is important to listen to your own feelings and needs, and not force yourself to do something that does not suit you.

[MondoBilby]

This is incredibly well written. You described things in such a way that I could really feel all the emotions that this mc was feeling. I'm not asexual, but the descriptions of disgust and uncomfort around sex are the same feelings I feel about romance, so I could still relate to this a little. Great job!