Aro Visions and Hopes: AroWriMo Week 3
I meant to do AroWriMo these past few weeks, I just kinda... forgot to. But now is better late than never, right?
I guess I’ll start with talking about hope. Hope is one of those things that’s abstract and concrete, complicated and simple, and most importantly, easier to write about than mirrors. I might find a way to weave it in somehow, we’ll just have to see.
I hope that in the future, my heart won’t sink the moment somebody mentions a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I hope I won’t have to scroll pass flowery romantic poems that mean nothing to me and everything to everyone else. I hope that I won’t have to lie awake at night, wondering what happens to me when the people I care about find their “other half.” I hope I won’t have to worry about others dating and getting engaged and getting married and starting a family together, leaving me behind. I hope I’ll look in the mirror and see a bright and happy me, surrounded by people who love and cherish me in the same way they do their romantic partners. I hope I won’t live the opposite— a dreary and depressed life, lived alone, walked alone, scrolled through the Instagram feeds of friends with people who mean more to them then I could ever be alone. For some reason, the latter is more tangible, more concrete than the former will ever be.
Being aro is kinda like looking through a glass wall. On the other side, you can see people talking and laughing and walking about like people do. Sometimes you forget about the wall entirely. Sometimes you can trick yourself into pretending it doesn’t exist. Sometimes it’s almost like there’s no wall at all. Sometimes you can talk and laugh and walk with the people on the other side like you’re one of them. Sometimes you act like one of them, become like of them, but then...
It doesn’t take much for the wall to appear. All it needs is one offhand comment, one tiny snippet of a conversation that most would ignore to send you flying back, back behind the glass wall, forever drawing a line between you and the whole world. You can slam your fists against it all you want, screaming and crying and begging, but the wall still stands, unchanging.
You look into the mirror. You’re sad, angry, and most devastatingly, alone.
I wish I could say those fears don’t have any power over me, but that would be a lie. I don’t like to lie. Saying “but I still love!!111!1!” would be smooshing myself against the glass barrier pretending it doesn’t exist. Saying “love doesn’t have to be romantic!11!1!!!” would be throwing myself over the top. Both are true, but both only please the figures of judgement beyond the glass wall. They do nothing to dismantle it.
Speaking of figures of judgement, there are few kind ones beyond the glass wall. Few understand more than the basics. A few recognize us, trapped beyond the glass wall, others offer shallow gifts. I’ve never met one who understands the wall itself in the same way we do. Worse, there are the unkind ones, the cruel ones. The ones who tell us we haven’t found the right person, that the wall will disappear one day, that the wall is a construction of our minds and not them. They say we’re faking it, that we’ve snuck behind their defenses only to stab them in the back. They mock us, taunt us, hate us and there’s nothing we can do. Nothing but stare into the mirror at our empty eyes and empty faces, and sigh.
It’s easy to feel alone. It’s easy to be isolated, especially when there are so few of us, but they’re out there. There are other people who look through the same glass wall every day. I should know, I’ve met them. I don’t know their real names or their real faces, but I can talk to them. I can laugh at the jokes they send. Maybe one day, I can sit and talk and laugh and walk with them the way I do with others beyond the wall. Maybe, one day, I’ll look at myself in the mirror and it’ll resemble the first vision. But for now, I can only hope.
