My Asexual Story, 2018.

My Asexual Story, 2018.

Another little autobiographical comic I whipped together (this was drawn in like two hours tops so don’t judge the drawings lmao). To clarify, I am in a happy long-term committed relationship with a non-ace girl and we’re both very happy with our relationship, and I have never had bad experiences with relationships because of my asexuality. Being ace isn’t a big deal to me - I barely think about it - but asexuality is something that a lot of people seem to have trouble fully understanding, so I wanted to take some time to describe it the way I see it in my life and from my perspective. Every story is different - here’s mine.

This won’t make your blog look ugly. How could you not reblog this? REBLOGGING THIS COULD SAVE A LIFE!!!

I feel like society normalizing mothers screaming and being angry at their children as long as they don’t beat them because ‘mothers love you more than anyone else’ should stop. It hurts victims of emotional and verbal abuse because they are told to keep loving their mothers since they “don’t abandon you, give you a roof, food, and clothing” and it makes them unable to identify if they’re being abused or try to fight back because “she still loves me.” Such things really have to stop.

“Start by NOT rejecting yourself. You don’t deserve it.” Well said.

so heres a thing my mother always said to me growing up when i broke something on accident that i think is really important

and i know, from watching my friends and seeing their panic and terror when something broke, that not only were not nearly enough children told this thing, many children were punished in place of being reassured

and thats heartbreaking

so heres the words from my mom that i was always told, and theyre the same words that anyone who never got to hear them should hear now, courtesy of my mom, who has repeated those same words to many a friend of mine and now to you

if i ever broke anything, the first words out of her mouth would always be and have always been, “are you hurt?” 

i would say no

she would say, “thats okay, then”

and i would ask why

and she would say “because it was just a thing- even if its a nice thing, or an old thing, or an expensive thing, its still just a thing. it can be replaced, or we can live without it. there is only one you. there will only ever be one you. you will always be more important than just some thing.” 

And speaking of Sophia Tolstoy, her diaries are just so depressing. 

“I am to gratify his pleasure and nurse his child, I am a piece of household furniture, I am a woman. I try to suppress all human feelings. When the machine is working properly it heats the milk, knits a blanket, makes little requests and bustles about trying not to think […].“

She wrote this when she was 19, one year into her marriage to Leo and as she was pregnant with the first of his 13 children.

A few years later, when she was 25 or so:

“I am so often alone with my thoughts that the need to write in my diary comes quite naturally … Now I am well again and not pregnant—it terrifies me how often I have been in that condition. He said that for him being young meant “I can achieve anything”. For me […] reason tells me that there is nothing I either want or can do beyond nursing, eating, drinking, sleeping, and loving and caring for my husband and babies, all of which I know is happiness of a kind, but why do I feel so woeful all the time, and weep as I did yesterday? I am writing this now with the pleasantly exciting sense that nobody will ever read it, so I can be quite frank with myself […].“

During her 12th pregnancy she wrote about taking scalding baths and jumping from high pieces of furniture to try and miscarry.  And at one point while reading her husband’s diary (which he told her to read) she found the sentence “There is no such thing as love, only the physical need for intercourse and the practical need for a life companion.” In her own diary she wrote “They ebb and flow like waves, these times when I realise how lonely I am and want only to cry…”

A few years before her husband’s death, she published a cycle of prose poems titled “Groans”, under the pseudonym “A Tired Woman”.