Normal

Normal.

I never had much chance of getting it.

Diagnosed with a heart condition at ten.

Given an Implanted Cardiac Defibrillator at twelve.

A late addition of Periodic Paralysis, finally given a name at twenty.

I knew I would never have a social calendar as full as my friends, or be able to go away to uni or even have a full-time job. All those normal things you expect to just be able to do. I didn’t mind too much, I had been living with restrictions since I was ten, it had given me plenty of time to plan a life around them.

Despite all that, I always assumed my love life would be my little slice of normal. Okay, the irregular beat of my heart condition would make sex a bit more…interesting, but there was nothing stopping me from having a relationship. My one chance to be like my peers, to feel like all the restrictions were worth it to be loved and love just like everyone else.

But my love life never worked like that, I didn’t have my first kiss in my teen years like everyone else (at almost 29 I still haven’t managed that milestone). I always felt uncomfortable when sex was brought up and my one and only date took place at twenty. I was good at convincing myself it was fine, that I didn’t date because none of my peers fit my definition of ‘pretty’ it was always a problem with them, the faceless mass of potential dates and never a problem with me. It helped that no one asked me out, it made it easier to ignore my lack of feelings.

I tried to be happy with being single, but my disabilities mean I can’t go far alone, I might faint or the periodic paralysis could cause my legs to give way, leaving me stuck with no help. Of course, I have a few friends I could go out with, or family members, but differing interests and a lack of consistent energy means I miss a lot of the events I want to go to. I found myself almost jealous of my coupled-up friends, they always had someone to go out with, they never had to give up on seeing their favourite band or miss that anime convention. They even got to see the world, whilst I watched on, alone and stuck at home.

So, I tried dating apps, but they have never been my friend, hundreds of potential dates at my fingertips and none of them were right. I end up swiping left until my hand feels numb and my brain feels sad. It was getting harder to ignore my pickiness, before I could convince myself that my ‘type’ just wasn’t what I would be able to find in my local area, but now with so much choice, and still…nothing. I would swipe yes on one or two of them, trying to convince myself I could grow to like them, but I would get bored of them within a few days, no one ever pretty enough to keep my attention. I use them once every year or so, my way of feeling like I was doing something about my love life.

The few potential dates I do talk to bring up a problem that I’ve yet to find an adequate solution to – when to tell them about my medical conditions. They’re all invisible disabilities, so no picture will ever show the extent of my problems, so I try to bring them up early on. It always feels like a mistake, opening myself and being so vulnerable to someone I barely know, but the dating world moves fast and I don’t want to waste either of our time if they can’t deal with my conditions. It is an interesting experiment, seeing how they react, what sort of questions they ask, it tells you a lot about the person. None ever ask about how sex would work between us, something I’d expected as they were faced with a heart condition and a lump of metal in my chest. At the time it would make me relax, we could build up to sex and the confession that I’d never had it and I could continue to ignore the tiny fear of how my heart condition would react. But now, it makes me wonder if they never saw me as a potential option once I’d opened up, not wanting to be stuck with a genetic freak of nature. Whilst no one has explicitly rejected me when they found out about my medical conditions, I’m not stupid enough to think that hasn’t been a factor with some of them.

I realised I was asexual at twenty-six, although it took another two years of denial before I would believe it. I’d seen the term for the first time on Instagram a few months prior but never looked at it as if it described me. It was just an interesting new sexuality to learn about. It took writing a fanfic where for the first time, I wrote out my real feelings about sex, and it took someone commenting for me to realise I’d described asexuality.

I refused to accept it, I wanted to hold onto the promise of one part of my life being normal. That I could stick to my lie that all I had to do was kiss someone or have sex and everything would just fall into place. The more I looked into asexuality, the more I realised it fitted me, my lack of a dating life finally had a reason.

For a time, it made me feel worse, a freak in all parts of my life. I wouldn’t get my happily ever after, someone to spend my days with, someone who was mine and no one else’s. There were more pressing and slightly selfish concerns too, my disabilities are going to get worse with age. I’ll be having operations to replace my defib every eight or so years, a single fainting spell sees me banned from driving for at least six months. The periodic paralysis is rare and not well studied, but the best guess is I’ll end up in a wheelchair at some point and even if I don’t there are times where I can’t even get out of bed. My sister and mother help on my bad days so I’m not expecting a partner to be my full time carer, but I would expect them to help just enough to let me keep some independence. I don’t want to face being cared for by strangers, my days planned around someone else’s schedule and I don’t want to spend however long my disabilities will let me live for alone, without the forever person that everyone else gets. 

Then, something clicked, my asexuality is as much a part of me as my disabilities are and I just needed to adjust my view on my life to accept it. I’ve lived my life up until this point single, and it wasn’t that bad. I’ve long lost the friends who have coupled up and the ones that are left are equally as single and always up for going to random events, no matter what state I’m in, just for the company.

I finally started using asexual to describe myself, it felt right, like I had this new freedom, this new language to use when attempting to find a date. I no longer have to convince myself that kissing and sex have to feature in a relationship. I tried a dating app again with ‘Asexual’ proudly displayed on my profile, I didn’t feel so bad this time when I swiped no on most of them. The few I swiped ‘yes’ on had varying reactions to my asexuality, one was exceptionally polite when asking for my boundaries, although ultimately, we were incompatible. The other I wasted two months on, sharing my disabilities and taking my time getting to know him until he assumed my asexuality meant I wasn’t looking for a relationship. It was annoying, but it hasn’t put me off, one day, I’ll succeed in finding my forever person and we’ll create our own normal.