Trauma's Architectural Digest

I long to touched, but am terrified of the sensation, because the nerve memory associated with it is pain. Pain and absence. If I never allow myself to be touched, I can circumnavigate the hurt and avoid it all together.

Except,

I am already hurting, because I do want to be touched. But the fear of the pain is so strong it's disarming, wholly paralyzing, the fear, of reaching out to be touched, and being burned again.

That’s sort of the mixed history of my to this point short life and touching. The sensation of feeling and pleasure. Pleasure has, for the majority of the time been acutely related to pain. The kind of pain that scrapes at the sides of the gaping cavern in the right-center of my chest, like a spoon on the sides of a jar of nearly empty peanut butter.

In self defense, before anyone can touch me, moreover get close, I attack and hurt first, like the claw of a scared crab, striking out before the predator can even make a move. But usually i'm so terrified I can't even be sure not if the person I've just assaulted is a true predator, but I do know they have the power to hurt me. So, instinctively, in a preemptive fashion I strike out, and hurt first, and destroy any possibility of the so desired touch, and so feared touch.

Over before it even began. However then settles in the pain of the fear of the pain that never came, wrapped around me, squeezing me in it’s grip, tighter than their touch could have ever been. Muscle memory set to an excruciating pain, that overwhelms my sensory system.

The pain from touching.