You are likely reading the title and saying, "Who wouldn't want to have sex?" or "Who doesn't think about sex?"

If you asked those questions to a crowded room, I would likely be the only one to raise her hand, but there are people out there who are just like me and don't think about sex like the average person does. I am not saying that the average person walks down the street and wants to have sex with every attractive person that passes their way, but there is a difference between someone who thinks about sex and someone who doesn't think about sex.

If you look at a list of how many sexual orientations exist today, your mind would be blown away by the vast amount of options. I came to the realization that I wasn't straight, gay, or bisexual when I noticed that I didn't seem to experience sexual attraction as the average person does—I was on a completely different spectrum.

My first "sexual" experience happened in middle school when I formed a crush on a well-liked kid in class. When I really think back to it, I always wonder if I actually liked the kid or if I only liked him because everyone else liked him and I wanted to fit in with the crowd. Even in high school when everyone was dating and hooking up, I had no real desire to do any of those things. I simply felt a social pressure to date and to talk about having feelings for someone.

By my first semester in college, I had never kissed anyone or even practiced dating because the idea of being sexually intimate with someone didn't appeal to me. I simply did not care for dating or having sex, and that made me feel like a complete degenerate. Every time I turned on the television to find that a dating show was playing or whenever I flipped open a magazine, there would always be an advertisement saying that I needed to join a dating website or buy a new perfume to make myself sexually attractive to another person.

Suddenly, I felt like I was the prude who had never done anything and I felt as though I had to do these things to be normal, even though I didn't want to do them. I thought that time was running out for me and that if I didn't find someone to have sex with soon, I would be seen as the woman that nobody wanted.

Somewhere between my complete meltdown and my asexual acceptance, I downloaded Tinder and made an account on some dating apps. I kept opening and deleting accounts because I didn't know what I wanted. People would flirt with me and ask me to meet up with them for sex, but it felt wrong. It wasn't what I really wanted, it was what I felt like I was supposed to want.

Societal norms have a way of getting under your skin and making you miserable, and that's how I felt. I was not miserable in the sense where I was depressed—I just felt displaced and strange. I wasn't thinking about how amazing a first date would be when I was chatting with people over those dating websites, I was thinking about how I'd rather be reading a book or hanging out with my friends. Forcing myself into a relationship just so that I could feel "normal" like the rest of society actually made me uncomfortable and stressed. I went on one date—the only date in my entire life so far—and nearly had a panic attack because the guy put his arm around me when all I wanted to really do was watch a horror movie with a friend.

It took quite some time to get to the place of comfort that I am in today—where I ignore the pressure to date and live how I want to live. My asexuality was a revelation that I had when I was searching through forums and found one about asexuality—a discussion between genuine people that explained everything I had felt since I first started exploring my own sexuality. There was a label for who I was and there were people like me, who did not feel sexual attraction the way that others do.

I've deactivated my accounts on dating websites and I've deleted Tinder, and I no longer feel obligated to have a boyfriend or girlfriend on my arm. Society always tried to convince me that having sex was the answer to everything and now I've decided to no longer listen.