I’ve written about it here before. Touching. I want to be touched. In many ways. No lack of affection in my family, an abundance of it, in fact. But lots of hospital visits have meant touching from strangers, which meant for a long time and still now, I’ve had to turn my brain off to it. Fear of touching, due to a crazy fucking stalker who would not leave me alone in my freshman year, not when I said go away, not when I called the police. No real touching there, but messages and letters and implications. Then touching I wish to forget, a few minor poor decisions that lead to arguments and a few things I don’t [want to] understand. My mom says I recoil from her now sometimes, and I don’t remember the last time I had a satisfying hug from a friend. I want to be touched but I’m afraid to be touched and I want to touch but when I imagine touching my hands seem too big and too clumsy and not mine.
Some relief from this would be nice.