Breaking Out

Ok, so more like Coming Out, but I can’t resist an opportunity to make a reference to Shock Treatment.

So let’s start this off right, and I’m sorry that it’s a huge jump from yesterday’s really mournful tone, but fuck it. It’s my Birthday.

In fact, because it’s my birthday I feel like today is the best day to say all this.

I am asexual.

Specifically demisexual, but I’ll explain that in a bit.

Many many many years ago, my editor and I had a roommate. They (that’s the singular they) were always queer, that’s just how we knew them. They were our first real look into queer culture outside of just homosexuality. They were pansexual, and polyamorous as well. They explained what that all meant very well. 

A few years later I discovered what Asexual meant, which in the context of human sexuality, is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. Now each experience is different for each person after that point, but when I learned about it I felt like I really understood something about myself. I have had many boyfriends in the past, and as an adult I have experienced intimacy with them as well, but it wasn’t like I felt physically drawn to them in that way, I like looking at people but I always pegged that to be more because I’m an artist. 

That’s when demisexuality came into play. Demisexuality is when someone doesn’t experience sexual attraction until a strong emotion bond is formed. And boy did that make sense to me. Because I do feel it, sometimes, but only with certain people. 

Over the last year I’ve slowly dropped the hint about it, and I think my family knows now. My editor was the first person to really know and he has given me so much love as support throughout this journey. 

Now speaking of my editor, let’s talk about gender expression shall we?

He and I have never really strongly identified with our assigned gender as much as most cis people do, but we also don’t identify as the opposite nor do we experience dysphoria. But there is a term for that: demigendered. He and I both identify as demi (I a demigirl and he a demiboy) which from the outside really doesn’t look all that different, and maybe it really isn’t, but it’s something that helped us become more comfortable with ourselves and each other as we learned these things about ourselves.

Now, to top off this queer cake, let’s talk about relationships.

Remember that roommate who was polyamorous? Well, we didn’t start dating them, but we learned a lot from them. Through a lot of heartbreak, my editor realized he had feelings for another person and the discussion about polyamory was on the table. I was always ok with the idea but I was too shy to really bring it up myself. That situation didn’t end up going anywhere, but we learned a lot. It helped open up our communication as a couple that much more and now we’re pretty much each other’s wing man. And let me tell you, this is really fun!

There is another friend of mine who reached out to me online after a concert two years ago and now she and I are the best of friends. She is also insanely beautiful. We always say we love each other and support and appreciate each other. She also is fond of my editor. I always liked the idea of adding her to our big gay home but through two separate events, she ended up in some kind of advanced friendship with both my editor and myself. I’ve decided to call ourselves “gal pals” (an Internet term for people misreading lesbians) and I honestly love it. Even if things don’t go anywhere with the more intimate parts of this relationship, she is a wonderful friend and I really do love her. 

So yeah.

I’m ace and I’m polyam. 

And I figured this was the best way to celebrate both my birthday and pride month.

If anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. I’m all about sharing the information!

Later, Buddy.

Today was a very hard day.

For the last few months, my editor and I had watched our beloved Rio shrink down. He was always a skinny boi, but this was different. We were able to combat it by feeding him kitten chow and spoiling him with cream and meat and literally whatever food he wanted cause he demanded it. It seemed to help.

I lost the past two month attempting to work as a mail carrier, which sucked all my time and energy from me (I had left my position as a caregiver in February). I was able to get more work at the hospital which gave me June back to spend more time at home, and I’m very glad I was able to, because Rio wasn’t doing so well. He lost a lot more weight and his behavior started to change.

This last week was really the worst. He hardly left the back of my editor’s chair in the office, he would lose his balance and fall off a lot. He wouldn’t eat or drink as much. He was really weak. I had enough experience with end of life care from working at the assisted living home, but this was because it was a, a cat, and b, much more personal. 

On Friday night, we managed to convince him to stay in the bedroom and sleep between us like he used to all the time, but when my editor was about to get up, we discovered Rio had a bit of an accident and wet the bed. (My roommate’ kitten (who is actually like 3) pees on the bed all the time so we’re used to the cleanup). He didn’t move as much after that. We got him settled back in the office (and had a few more incontinence incidents) and by Monday he hardly moved at all. I let him settle on a sheep skin my parents let me use as a cat bed and set him in the window. He really appreciated it. 

I left work early on Tuesday so I could spend more time with him (and also move our bed into the office since we are going to be getting another roommate soon). He slept all day in front of the window. Both my mom and my dad came by to see him, and I’m glad they did.

We settled him on the sheepskin in the middle of the bed last night and stayed by his side all night, occasionally waking up to check on him. When I left for work this morning he was still with us, breathing very slowly. I told him I loved him and that I would see him when I came home from work.

I waited until about noon when my editor usually wakes to hear any news about Rio, and when I called him he said that he had just set Rio back in the window so he could get some sun and fresh air. I drove home on my break to check on him, which was probably the best thing I could do.

We tried to make him comfortable, cleaning off his face and giving him a little water. All of a sudden he got restless. We figured out that his ear was itchy (which it often was) so I picked him up and used a cloth to help scratch it and calm him. Then he seemed like he was trying to stretch his legs. I held him gently and let him do whatever he was trying to do. He was trembling as we tended to him. All of a sudden, he relaxed. I wasn’t sure at first, so I gave him a kiss and laid him back on the sheepskin, then I noticed he wasn’t moving at all. I held his paw in my hand, unable to move. My editor noticed too.

He was gone.

We had spent the last few days crying on and off together, anticipating this moment. Rio gave me the greatest gift he could. He let me be with him in that last moment. He waited so I could be there to say goodbye. 

It was hard, but I took him in my arms again, then wrapped him in a towel. The other cats needed to know. We let them all sniff him, before putting him in a cool spot until it was time to bury him.

Unfortunately I still had to go back to work for a few more hours. So my editor went back in the backyard and went over to the last spot Rio had chosen to lay down in, underneath the tree in the northwest corner, and dug. I had altered my family and roommates, and we planned to gather in the evening.

My Mother brought along a lovely plant, a daylilly I believe, and we planted it above him. I look forward to seeing it’s beautiful yellow flowers when it blooms. 

My Father, who was the one who brought Rio into our lives 16 years ago after rescuing him from being a stray, said a few but true words. He was a Wiley boi. Wild and fun, full of love. 

My roommates were with us as well, my friend and her husband, who brought a small bouquet of roses fro, the front yard to lay with Rio. They had been very kind to us throughout this whole process. 

My editor and I laid Rio down and said our pieces, his in poetic Latin, and mine, well I couldn’t say much. I sent him off with a milk ring to give to Torden, our other family cat who passes away this time of year a few years ago, and permission to “bite the butt” when he sees Georgia, the calico who he grew up with. 

Every twenty minutes or so, I start crying again because I’ll see something that reminds me of him, whether it’s his old food bowls, a picture, the other tabby cat who looks so much like him, or the old scars on my arms from when he attacked another cat and I had to break it up. 

I am so grateful to have been able to have him in my life, and I will miss him.

Thank you Rio. You will always be my boi.