I can be touched. Heck, I can’t go out in public hardly without someone touching me. A woman ran her hands through my hair at the store one time. She wasn’t knocked out. A guy came up and pat me on the arm to ask a question. He wasn’t knocked out. Strangers touch me quite often and no one has been knocked out. Clearly, just being touched doesn’t make me want to body slam someone.
Since I am sometimes physically unstable and fall, I talked to Dr. D about what to do if I fall in his office. Don’t touch me. Nope, Dr. D should never, ever touch me! Not ever! I’ve seen him for over 10 years but touch is not an option for him.
What about kids? Kids are never, ever at danger with me not ever. At the private practice I where I see Dr. D, there was a young kid that ran up to me and jumped in my arms every time I walked in the door. I had to stop that cause he was getting kinda big after a bit but never was he or his infant sister in danger. I got to hold the baby quite often and loved every minute of it. Yes it hurt but sometimes we trade joy for pain and it’s worth it.
There is a demographic associated with my abusers that I see as a threat. They, by virtue of the color of their skin and gender are an immediate trigger for me. I can’t hug black women. I can’t hug black men….nor can I allow them to use my restroom. I can’t see a female doctor. That’s now in my medical chart. It’s going to go wrong because I’ll be in a different mind-set. I’ll see them as a threat. I’ll see them as my mother and I’ll want to protect myself. Trust me, this demographic scares me to death, stranger and known alike scare me to death. And even though I work to desensitize this, I still know that unwanted physical contact from this demographic will go terribly wrong.
I was going to marry a black man. I close my eyes as I think of that because my heart hurts for that situation. He could touch me. Those huge rough hands didn’t scare me but his temper did and I said I wouldn’t live like that anymore. I can be touched sexually from time to time but with my physical pain, touching on a regular basis as a partner in life isn’t possible. I can’t touch myself either. It huts when I touch myself, too. My skin hurts. My scalp hurts. As I sit here typing it hurts every time I move my hands to hit the keys. My clothing hurts, everything hurts, so yeah, the physical part of my “Don’t touch” rule stands with all my friends. But that specific demographic as well as people who become obsessive, controlling, confrontational and hostile should expect to see a man named Robert explain his position.
Note: If my hand brushes against my leg it hurts. Rubbing my eyes, sneezing, crossing my legs, getting dressed, on and on is a problem. That’s what I mean by I can’t touch myself w/o it hurting. Brushing my teeth, putting on socks, you name it and it hurts. RSD is vicious!
written February 13, 2017 – 10:07Pm EST