I am asexual. Why is that difficult to say? Especially in front of people. Why is it something I almost feel shame in admitting? Why does it feel like I’m telling everyone I’m a freak?

What kind of world do we live in where we are encouraged to feel ashamed for how we feel, ashamed for what we look like, ashamed for who we are? What kind of world leaves us to our own devices to work out what makes us different, instead of reminding us how we’re all the same?

I am asexual. It took me years to get to this point, years to understand what it means and feel comfortable using this word to describe myself – but it describes me. It’s who I am. And that’s what everyone deserves; a word, a phrase, a term that means them. That reminds us that we are all just people, human beings. That we are all normal.

Normal: a word which lost its meaning long ago, a word devoured by those society favours, used to describe only themselves, a word the majority cannot use because we simply do not conform with these narrow expectations.

Get a boyfriend, get a husband: some people don’t want that. Get a girlfriend, get a wife: some people don’t want that. Have sex, start a family: some people don’t want that. I don’t want that.

Because I am asexual. Yet we cling to these old-fashioned definitions – that humans are made to a standard; males one way and females another, and that’s just how it is. And anything that deviates from that is labelled a freak.

But nobody chooses who they are. Nobody creates their character at the start of the game; nobody chooses to be bi or gay or ace or aro or trans. Nobody joins LGBT groups for attention because they’re a “special snowflake”. We’re not secretly straight or repressed or victims of trauma. It’s not because of depression or mental health issues. It’s just who we are. Why should we feel ashamed for telling people who we are? How are we not normal?

The sad truth is some people see words like ‘asexual’ and read ‘freak’. But that’s not what it really means. It means there are other people like us. Other people that are okay, and surviving. And happy. It’s a way for other people to understand us, a way for us to understand ourselves. Which is what we all crave, each and every one of us: to be respected, to be understood, to be normal.

You’re Bisexual? Normal Person. Gay? Normal Person. Pansexual? Normal Person. Transgender? Normal Person. Aromantic? Normal Person. Demisexual? Normal Person. Asexual. Normal Person. You have anxiety? It doesn’t matter. Normal Person. Depression. Normal Person. PTSD… I could go on.

We are all just another dot on the human spectrum, a unique composition of desires and feelings and thoughts. Just because I don’t want to procreate, just because someone’s assigned gender doesn’t sit well with their skin, just because a man likes both Jack and Jill, it doesn’t matter. Just because some of us can’t do something another can, or some of us don’t want to, it doesn’t matter. We’re all different; we’re all unique; and because of that… we’re all the same.

And we are all normal. And it might take some time, but once we can understand what that means and feel comfortable using this word to describe ourselves, then that is what we are. A word everyone deserves; a word, a phrase, a term that means them. That reminds us that we are all just people, human beings, that we are not alone, that we are not broken, we are not freaks, we are not weird. We are just like everyone else.

It’s about time we show the world that we’re not afraid of telling everyone who we are. The day we can all claim our right of feeling normal. And nobody – not even the President or the Prime Minister – can take that away from us, no matter how hard they try.

Because, deep down, we know, and I know. And I won’t stop screaming it until everyone else knows as well: I. AM. ASEXUAL. And that means I’m normal.