I think my wires are crossed.
When someone touches me, particularly men, that brief touch almost always communicates intent to have sex.
When I’m in a small room with a powerful male figure – or even just a man who’s significantly older – I am awkward and uncomfortable.
I assume they are looking at me like a piece of meat. I’m both anxious and excited by this – but it comes out as fear, anxiety. I tamp it down and hide it, because I know it’s just the way my brain is broken. I become concrete.
I’m ashamed of it. I’ve hidden that my entire life.
But I don’t get it. I don’t understand it. Why is touch so loaded for me?
And at some point when I was young I stopped being comfortable with my parents touching me. Especially my mom. Her caress was gentle and warm – and it repulsed and angered me. I still can’t explain why.
Yesterday, she rubbed my back a little as she slowly walked behind me on her way the kitchen. I tolerated it for 2 seconds, but then pulled away doing my best to hold back a sharp rejection, but muttering a firm “stop it”. My attempt at holding back my disgust failed, she still seemed surprised and saddened. I felt bad, ashamed to hurt her for just trying to show love, but I hated it. I don’t understand this… my dad walked by next and I feared he would touch me too. Since my brother died I can barely look at him. He squeezed my shoulder, but for some reason it wasn’t as bad as my mom’s caress.
That’s just it, isn’t it? Caressing feels like sexual intent. Is that it? I’m not sure, but my mom doing it just makes me want to hurl. The only weird thing is that R (my husband) is the only other person who touches me like that on occasion.
I started thinking about this… my mom and R having a similar touch and I started to get grossed out by the thought. Then last night we were both high. As we went to bed he reached out and started caressing my back gently, lovingly. I would not have normally shied away but for some reason it took every ounce in my body not to scream at him. I whimpered holding back tears as he continued to rub my back… he was too high to tell – I was too high to yell. It made me want to throw up. I sat there feeling assaulted as he continued for several minutes. It’s so stupid, that I felt that way, I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And now I’m here so sad and scared, curled up in a ball. Not wanting anyone to touch me ever again.
And honestly, I’m kind of a little scared of being in the same space as my T. But I don’t know why. I’m embarrassed because it’s dumb, it’s just my stupid brain telling me something that isn’t true. I don’t want to feel this way. Why can’t I be normal?
But why am I feeling this now?? If this is what it means to remember – then I don’t want to remember. I just want to die when I think about all this… did that experience do that much damage? Why can’t I just move on?
And now it’s taking every ounce of self control not to tear into my skin. Terror in my own skin.