Pieces Of Me [an online journal of sorts]

Entry 1 2 1: undecided

I wouldn't say it's hard, being undecided. It's not like I'm running against a clock, or have someone in the wings waiting on an answer. Although I wouldn't say it's easy either.

I don't know seems like a common enough sequence of words these days, a default response to a question I'm not sure how I'm supposed to begin to answer. I really don't know.

But people just know, don't they? They look at someone, a certain kind of someone, and they feel it: in their chest, a flutter, in their stomach, butterflies. Time speeds up, or slows down. There's a newfound gravity, a different kind of warmth blooming under their skin. It's red cheeks, nervous anticipation, and occupied thoughts. Or at least, that's what I've read. Again, I don't really know.

My best friend couldn't really explain it to me when I asked, how do you know? What are the signs? How do you pick the right label to sort your feelings under? How do you make it feel right? She couldn't give me an answer. She's been decided long ago. She's always just known.

It's not like I don't notice things. I've seen many girls and boys and men and women in my lifetime. I often look at the girls in my university, take note of the shape of their eyes and the slope of their nose, and think to myself wow, she's pretty. That's a thought that crosses my mind on at least five separate occasions, almost every single day. Then there's the boys I see on the screen, with their nice hair and soft gazes and sweet smiles. Cute, I silently acknowledge, although with an admittedly lower intensity. And that's the thing. It never goes further than that. They're just a bunch of remarks that pass through my head. I could go outside my dorm and think it's pretty windy today with the exact same amount of emotion. I don't think they're pretty and cute because I think I may want to hold their hand; I think they're pretty and cute because I wish I had their pretty eyes and cute noses and nice hair.

And it's not like I don't feel things either. I've felt that tight, hot coiling sensation in the pit of my gut before, many times. I know what it means. The problem is I don't think I've ever felt it towards someone, which is frustrating because it's not like there wasn't anyone I liked enough to logically spur that biological reaction. Because I have—had liked someone, once upon a time. Yet it never even occurred to me in all those years that I might like kissing them, and, funny enough, I actually didn't when it did happen. It felt wrong, which is all kinds of fucked up because what the hell does that even mean?

Again, the default answer: I don't know.

I've been struggling with this for a while, I think. For years actually. I've been trying to downplay it to myself (and the one friend that knows), but it feels weird. It doesn't feel... good. I feel like I'm missing out on something sweet and wonderful and warm. Like there's this whole part of life I'll never get a taste of because it was never in my reach in the first place.

So, no, I don't know why I don't feel attraction but still feel sexual desire. I don't know why I didn't like kissing the girl I liked (maybe even loved for a minute) but still wanted her hands to warm mine and her lips to press against my neck. I don't know why she was the only person I ever liked, or why I've never felt anything remotely close towards anyone else to this day, or if that's even a prerequisite for me to want someone. It's clear that I have no idea how these things work.

I don't have crushes or infatuations, and I don't have fantasies, but, god, I wish I did. I wish I would because being fixated sounds a lot less lonely than being uninterested. I've become almost obsessed with the idea of love, and attraction, and love and attraction, and it's irony at its finest how desperately I yearn for something I might actually be incapable of feeling. It's starting to feel like maybe this is another thing I'm just not meant to have. Just another experience I'm meant to observe from inside my glass box. It's probably true, but, god, I want to know what it's like, and I want to feel it with the kind of certainty that leaves no room for default answers.