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Regret


Lyodor Tolstoyevski

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Lyodor Tolstoyevski

I swear I'm going to come down off of this "I'm new" high sooner or later. It's starting to annoy *me.* But here's (hopefully) one last thread about my personal experience as a newly-aware ace. I'm going to thank clueingforlooks before I start, though. I was originally going to post this in her "grandbabies" thread, but then I felt like it would be hijacking, so it goes here.

A lot of things went through my head yesterday. It was, by chance, the first day of real sunshine that we've had over here for a while, so most of those thoughts weren't just happy, they were euphoric. I have this new understanding of myself, and also sunshine. How can things get any better?

And then there came a point, a gut-wrenching point, where all that forward momentum was temporarily rerouted downward. In my mental musings of how I would tell everyone I cared about, my mind went to telling my mom.

My mom is no longer with us.

And this isn't the first time since she's passed that I forgot for a moment, that I wanted to tell her something and realized I couldn't. But my mom had been sick for a long time. And her sickness made her into a different person in her last few years. And I can remember a moment, even a few months before the brain surgery that irrevocably changed her personality, where I silently came to terms with the fact that any hypothetical kids I have won't really know their grandmother, that even if I manage to find someone, settle down, and have a kid while she's still here, the person that my child meets wouldn't be the same person who raised me. And three years later, she passed away. And neither I nor either of my siblings are even married. And I know she would have been an amazing grandmother. I can picture in my head what it would have been like, and it's so clear it's almost like it actually happened.

And in the context of yesterday, in the context of my self-discovery, I just wished that I'd figured this out earlier. Early enough to tell her back when she was still capable of fully appreciating it. Because I know she'd have wanted to know. And I know she'd have been supportive. And aside from a few jabs here or there, she never really bugged me about marriage or kids, but I still wish I could go back and explain to her that there was a reason that I never had a girlfriend. That I'm not broken, or failing, or disappointing myself. I'm just... not a sexual person. And I wish I'd have been able to show her how okay I am with that now that I've figured it out.

And I can see how she would have looked at me. And I can feel how she would have hugged me. The subtle tension of the moment dissolving into total understanding. Because that's who she was, back when she was still herself.

I have this personal hang-up with the phrase "I love you." I don't say it. It's such a powerful phrase to me that even using those words feels like I'm diluting them. So I don't know when the last time I said those words to my mom was. Years before she passed, it must be. I've never regretted that, because I always made sure I demonstrated my love in other ways. I have no doubt in my mind that until the very end, she understood that I loved her, even if I didn't say those words out loud. It's something I'm at peace with.

But never telling her about my asexuality, never knowing about it in time to tell her, that hurts so much. That the images in my head will never, can never, materialize in the real world. That she never really knew the whole me. Of all the pain that I've had since her passing, I think this is the worst.

But I give that moment its time, and I find a way to come to terms with it, and I move forward. Because despite this one very sore spot, I am so happy that I've finally figured out who I am.

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I am sure she knew you love her. It really isn't necessary to another person you're asexual, I don't think most people could understand it, anyway.

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Lyodor Tolstoyevski

You're right, strictly speaking it isn't necessary, but this was my mom. I know my mom. I'm pretty sure she would have understood it, and failing that she would have done her best to support it anyway. And I know it would have been important to her, if for no other reason than to know that I'm doing okay.

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I have the same feelings about the words "i love you" and am very aware that I don't say it to people who I love unconditionally.

I haven't yet told me parents or brothers that I'm asexual, but I get the feeling that they kind of know, or at least my Mum might have figured it out, so I rarely get any questions about partners or babies.

If I was ever in a similar position to you with a seriously ill parent, this might cause me to let them know, as after reading your story I'd like to not have the regret you write about.

Thanks for sharing your story. Keep well and stay happy.

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Lyodor Tolstoyevski

I'm glad this has helped, but I want to add here the flip side of this story, because I just got a phone call from my father a few minutes ago, and it's the first time I've spoken to him since my discovery. And in the middle of the conversation, he asks "so everything's like usual?" And in my head I'm just screaming "No! No it's not! Everything is changed!" But just like I know my mom, I know my father too, and I just have no interest in telling him. He'd try to understand, he might even understand, but he has no idea how to deal with things he can't control. And I know he tries, but he's just not good at it. I don't think he'll feel any better for knowing, and I don't think I'll feel any better for his knowing.

So I said "yeah, everything's fine." And we finished the conversation. And it's possible that I'll eventually tell him if something relevant comes up, but I will be perfectly okay if that never happens.

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