A little less than a year ago, I came to the conclusion that I am, in fact, asexual. The revelation made perfect sense, as my anxiety in relationships and misunderstanding of what it means to be sexually attracted to another human was finally explainable.

Upon telling people about this realization, I was greeted with multiple reactions:

"Are you sure? I mean, how can you really know if you haven't actually slept with anybody?"
"You're probably just a late bloomer, you'll change your mind when you find that special someone."
"What a shame, you don't know what you're missing out on!"
"Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor about that? It could just be an imbalance with your girly hormones."
"So, what? You don't want to get married? Or have kids?"

And the most common:

"What does that even mean?"

A handful of times, however, the response has strayed from these typical lines, prompting somebody to instead say something to the effect of this:

"Dang, I wish I was asexual. Things would be so much easier if I didn't have to deal with boys/girls."

Now, I know that when this has been said, that it's been from a place of humor, and an attempt to understand what it means to be asexual. I know that those who have said this to me haven't mentioned it from a place of intentional discourse, or in an attempt to invalidate my identity. Unfortunately, in this case, ignorance isn't bliss, as there is far more to asexuality than simply not having to "deal" with people in a sexual way.

Before I knew what asexuality was, I was distraught, confused, and terrified of relationships. I never know why, how, or when, but was sure that eventually, in every romantic relationship, I would back away and try to convince the other person (and myself) that it wasn't working out. I was weary with the assumption that most people expect sex in a relationship, and knowing that I didn't, and couldn't feel that way.

After knowing what asexuality was, and identifying with it, I was content for a while, finally having relief in knowing I wasn't alone, and that there wasn't anything wrong with me. This does not, however, mean that being asexual is easy, or that I'm "lucky" to identify as such.

Being asexual is telling every person I have a romantic attraction to that I'm asexual prior to getting too interested in somebody, because there's an 87% chance they'll stop talking to me when they find out I'm not super interested in sex.

Being asexual is harboring a crippling fear that you'll end up alone because relationships all come so much easier to your friends, and you can't be a third wheel forever.

Being asexual is assuming that getting romantically involved with anybody who isn't also asexual will inevitably lead to their cheating, because who really want to be with somebody who won't put out?

Being asexual is having to consistently explain what it means to be asexual, and then having to defend it's legitimacy.

Being asexual is doubting my own legitimacy in my orientation.

Being asexual is dealing with people insisting I just haven't experienced "good dick," and that if I had, I wouldn't be so quick to call myself ace.

Being asexual is having to deal with incredibly invasive questions about the function of my sexual organs, and if they "work properly."

Being asexual is something I worked hard to come to terms with, because even though I was relieved to have answers, I knew these questions and doubts would rear their ugly heads.

Please, stop saying that I'm "lucky."