Desired

As someone who is autistic, and queer, and fat, I have spent my whole life searching for acceptance. In some places, I have found it. In others, I have found it for a while until I didn’t, or I found acceptance for part of my identity until the other part was revealed. Even still, it’s not enough- it’s never really been enough. I don’t want to be accepted or allowed or tolerated; I want to be desired. I want others, someone, to want me, to crave my presence, to ache in my absence. I have never feared being hated or rejected. My biggest fear has always been being forgotten, that deep feeling that, when I’m not around, I immediately disappear from people’s minds, that nobody would think of me unprompted. Maybe that is why I am so loud, so bright, so vocal about everything- because the risk of being annoying is less terrifying and lonely than the risk of disappearing.

Tolerance for autistic people is so strong. Everyone wants to do their part, to be inclusive and welcoming. When I was in high school, I went on a service trip and got the end-of-week award for exemplifying Christ’s mission in how I presented myself, mainly because of how kind and accepting I was of a neighborhood kid, a year or two younger than me, in the area where we were working. Looking back, he was most definitely neurodivergent like me. The thing is, I didn’t play with this kid because I was trying to be generous or welcoming. I played with him because he was fun, and because he wanted to engage with us, with me, in a way that the other kids on the trip didn’t. I played with him because, despite my years of tech theater experience with power tools, the actual construction tasks were delegated to the more masc boys, or even the kids that were just…normal, and I was pushed to the side anyways. In the moment, he was the only one who wanted me, and I was the only one who wanted him. And I got an award for that.

In too many settings, people love me, but more as a pet than anything else. I’m treated with that sugar-substitute brand of sweetness that disabled people know well. I’m treated like a service project, like an opportunity into Christ’s mission, a presence that can be a bit tedious but sure is self-rewarding. People listen to the point of boredom or they hang with me until the event is over. Then, it’s done. Their obligation is fulfilled and I’m back to being alone.

In the beginning of the pandemic, I lost a lot of weight by walking 5 miles every day. I went from around 250 pounds to 180. My goal was just to be in the “healthy zone” but things began to change. Suddenly, people treated me differently. Queer guys were more interested in me. People in seminary began to listen more carefully to me and I was taken seriously at work. Friends suddenly reached out to me without me texting them first and they wanted to hang out, to be closer to me, more than every before. People commented that I looked happier, and I was, but not because I weighed less. I was happier because I was desired.

Then, everything started to go back in person and things got busier. I still walked 5 miles daily but my weight kept going back up and I felt helpless. I thrive on routine and the attempts to switch up the pattern are painful and exhausting. I’m back to 230 now, not too much less than before. The friends and their desire to hang out and talk faded away, the flirting definitely stopped, and I have to fight so much more just to be seen as knowledgeable in my own field of study. I used to tell myself that my insecurity about my body was all in my head- part of my anxiety disorder, but then I was proven right. I was at the point where I didn’t feel the need to wear a swim shirt in the pool anymore but now I do again.

I know that as a fat person, I’m supposed to only want to lose weight to be healthier but that doesn’t change that I still desperately crave intimacy and connections with others. I can’t stop being queer or autistic but this little voice in the back of my head keeps reminding me that if I lose weight, people might desire me like they did before. Especially among gay men post-AIDS epidemic, there has always been such a need to present as “healthy” and this has led to immense body-shaming in the community.

My personality can sometimes be described as “someone with something to prove.” And it’s not inaccurate. I’ve always needed to prove that autistic people are worthy of leadership and love, not just for me but for my community. I’ve needed to prove that I’m confident in my abilities even if I’m otherwise filled with so much anxiety and insecurities. I’ve needed to prove that I love myself and my body even though people will reach out just to tell me that I shouldn’t. I’ve needed to prove that queer people belong in the church and I’ve needed to present myself in such a way that rejects the overly-sexualized stereotypes of queer people while disproving stereotypes that desexualize autistic people.

I want to be able to be desired in all my forms, as an intellectual, as a professional, as a leader, as a sexual being, as a friend. I want to be wanted in mind, body, and soul. The feeling of being invited into a space only to be circled around or smiled at in passing until nobody notices that I’ve left is lonely. I’ve never felt more alone than when I’m surrounded by people. I reach out as much as I can to others but after I receive three last-minute cancelations to hang out in a week, at what point do I refrain from making future plans to avoid the heartbreak of getting all ready just to sit alone? When the slips of the mind and the sudden scheduling mistakes build up, being the last priority becomes a way of life- death by a thousand papercuts.

I crave relationships in any form and I seek intimacy wherever I can find it, pining after those scraps where I can feel desired. I want people who will reach out to talk to me, to text me first out of nowhere. I would love someone who would text me every day, who is eager to hang out, to be with me. Yet, I also want people who I don’t need to hear from every day, or even every week, but who won’t forget me. I don’t want to be afraid that, if I don’t text someone first, that might be the last time I hear from them because I’ll disappear from their mind. I have friendships that have faded away simply because I’ve been told that I reach out too much so I said I would let them be the one to reach out next. They never did.

I feel loved- loved enough to be welcomed and appreciated and respected. But I don’t recall the last time, save my parents, that I’ve felt loved enough to be missed, to be thought about when I’m not there, to have my presence sought after. I’ve struggled to feel worthy of that type of love. I know that attraction is a biological reaction so why would anyone be attracted to me? I know that my autistic traits and communication differences are tedious for many allistic people so who would want that? I know that there are many people who have never given me a reason to doubt their queer inclusion so why should they have to deal with my constant mentions of my sexuality out of a trauma response from being so heavily rejected? Others shouldn’t have to be responsible for my anxiety and insecurities.

Sometimes, I feel guilty for wishing that anyone would really want me with all of that. Yet, it doesn’t change the fact that I do. I crave more than tolerance or acceptance. When I ask if that is too much to ask, I actually mean it. Is it? I don’t know. All I know is that I want to be desired. Maybe someday, I will be.