Demisexual - AKA that one disease named after the crazy face in the Substance.

Valentine’s Day never really meant a ton to me. I didn’t grow up seeing love in a way that made sense. My parents fought constantly—there was addiction, chaos, and never any real stability. And growing up gay at a time when it wasn’t widely accepted? That meant I spent most of my early years hiding. Love was never something I had the freedom to explore.

Sex, though? That was different. For years, I treated intimacy like it was just something transactional—casual, disconnected, and easy to separate from emotion. That’s what I thought it was supposed to be, or maybe that’s what the world told me it was. And for a long time, I believed that.

Until, suddenly, I didn’t anymore.

After my divorce, I sat across from a sex therapist and found myself admitting something I hadn’t been able to put into words before: I couldn’t do casual anymore. I had changed, but I hadn’t realized how much. I couldn’t feel attraction unless I felt a deeper connection first. I needed to know someone before I could even want them.

He gave me a name for it—demisexual. I still remember him saying it. In my mind, it sounded like I had been diagnosed with some weird affliction that was most likely named after Demi Moore. His face didn't convey the same criticality.

And that was when it all clicked: love wasn’t something I had lost. It was something I had found.

And I know I’m not the only one who has felt this.

Maybe you’ve been there too—spending years chasing something, wondering why it never felt right. Maybe you’ve settled for less because that’s what you thought love was supposed to be. Maybe you’ve even started believing it’s not for you.

If today brings up some things—if it makes you reflect, feel a little lost, or even regretful—just know this: love evolves. And so do you.

You don’t have to love the way you used to. You don’t have to want the same things you did five years ago. You don’t have to shape your relationships to fit someone else’s. I used to think change made me inconsistent. It didn't; it made me stagnant. Change, when planned, is growth, and I just wasn't ready to see that.

If you’re still figuring all of that out, you’re not alone. There are so many more sexualities than I even knew, which is why I stumbled onto the right psychologist's couch when seeking answers. As for me, well, "Demisexual" (the disorder named after crazy-face from the substance) - not so bad! We even have our cute little flag it turns out! Step aside trans boys, we're coming for you! lol

I'm still learning how to navigate in this world, it's so diffrent than anything I know.

Wherever you are in your journey, Happy Valentine’s Day. And if this spoke to you, stick around and share your social media balls right off—there’s more to explore. If you're reading this Yub..

Yeah, he's not... but if he were, I'd say thanks for helping Humpty Dumpty put himself back together after a dumpster fire divorce and getting me back on the road to progress. Thank you for curing my writer's block. Thank you for tolerating when I have a session and am really tired, and doze off mid-sentence on the couch. Finally, thank you for leading me back to vulnerability, when you place me squarely in the face of it and every instinct I have tells me to run. Thanks for putting up with Max, my pug—initially, I took him to sessions; he's a support dog. And thank you for reminding me that I know who I am; I've known all along. I never lost myself. I'd just forgotten to look in the mirror.

---

Shoutout to Yub Kim

If this resonates with you—if you’re out here trying to understand yourself, redefine intimacy, or just figure out what love even means—I can’t recommend therapy enough. After my divorce, I started seeing Yub Kim, and between therapy, the right antidepressant, and giving myself a fresh start, he completely changed my life. He's a pretty killer therapist.

Yub has been a huge part of Cleveland’s LGBTQ+ sex-positive community for years. His office is one of those places where nothing feels off-limits. Above the couch where I sit for therapy, there’s even a leather pup mask hanging on the wall—a quiet but powerful reminder that he understands this world and the people in it.

If you’re looking for someone who gets it, he’s taking new patients.

Link to Yubs Bio

I took my soul in for a tune-up with Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I was 19 the first time I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Lit class at Michigan State. One of those “great American novels” they make you read because it’s supposed to change your life. I remember standing in the bookstore, pulling it off the shelf, thinking, Holy fuck, this thing is massive. Philosophy, motorcycles, and midlife crisis nonsense I had to carry around.

I was annoyed. But I read it. And then I tossed it aside.

At 19, I didn’t care about a man trying to put himself back together. I hadn’t broken it yet. I chalked it up to Not For Me and moved on.

Fast forward 25 years, life humbles you. Beats the shit out of you. Teaches you lessons in ways you never wanted to learn.

I have survived heroin addiction.

I have survived six overdoses.

I have survived a failed marriage and a divorce.

I have lost people I loved.

I have carried the weight of choices I can never undo.

The pain of living—it’s carved into my skin.

And now, picking up Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance again, I don’t see a crazy old kook rambling about philosophy. I see a man standing at the wreckage of his past, staring at a road that can’t take him back.

At 19, I ran from Phaedrus, the name the narrator gives to his inner monologue during highly unstable moment. But now? I don’t deny him.

I think we all have a Phaedrus inside us. The part that questions too much, digs too deep, risks losing itself in the process. The part that doesn’t just want to live, but wants to understand.

This book is a fucking chore to read, but it’s worth it. It wanders, it circles itself, it challenges you—but by the end, when everything snaps into place, when you finally see what the narrator has been trying to reconcile this whole time, it hits hard.

I see myself in this book.

I see my father in this book.

I wasn’t ready for it before. But now? Now, it feels like something I was always meant to read.

If you haven’t read it, I recommend it.

If you’ve read it before, read it again.

It might just change you too.

---

On sale now on Amazon. Get your Zen.