Raw

I started this blog feeling pretty good about what all I'd worked through on the asexual-ish front.  I'd hit upon an identity/bucket that clicked, and really felt right for me.  I'd gotten involved with a really fantastic woman who was totally okay with us not involving genitals in our play.  There were all kinds of moments of hilarity and misadventure.  Sure, there was the serious stuff to continue working through, and more self-discovery, but I was feeling pretty good.

I'm still feeling pretty good.  I bounce around, I make (a)sexuality jokes, and am generally pretty happy-go-lucky.

But then I'm reminded how raw so much of this is for me.  When I sit down to write here, and I feel deep-set anger bubbling up.  When I'm feeling cornered by somebody's sexual interest, and I feel a knot of panic forming under my ribs.  When I read asexuality blogs, and feel a devastating resonance with others' painful words and experiences.

It's still raw, and it still hurts.  The ferocity of it, the intensity, consistently takes me by surprise.  I'm not sure what there is to do about it, other than know there are still strong, painful undercurrents.