Touch

2022 A man walks past me and brushes the side of my hips, probably an accidental jostling, and something inside me shifts. I no longer blame myself for these shifts, although I am annoyed to frequency at which it occurs, sneaking up on me at random instances, the most painful, sensitive parts has a way of breaking out of pandora's box, a strange jump scare, and suddenly I am momentarily flung back into a different self at a different time. A breath, I recentred my core, it is safe, the lane is narrow, unintentional, it didn't matter. I smiled at the cashier and made my order. We are 37. 1985 Since I could remember, i felt that something is wrong with me, surely it is true, for I felt unloved and unwanted to the core that I think the only place I could trace this back to is my Mother, who did not hold me or love me or want me. A void that stretches infinitely since my inception, a gaping hole, so deep that no one is able to fill it in. Mother, an enigma, I was owed a love I never had and will never have. I clung on to so many adults in my life for that love, and sometimes it soothed me, only to have it be broken and shattered again and again, the common denominator? Me. I. Broken. We are born, we wish to no be. How come you don't love me? Why did you have me? 1995 I came to a strange awareness about how alone I truly am, but also how powerful we truly are, I had presence, I could make up voices and a persona, i could shine, I could steal, I could wreck, I could care, I could love. but I could not be loved. 3,2,1 go, the race begins, winner wins the penultimate place of belonging with someone. I could earn my sense of belonging. I became she, and then she became we. He was there, not just him but honestly she didnt know, life was a blur and a race and she had to prove herself, but she also had to keep herself safe, and her brother too, innocent, young, as they were both, but she didn't accept her own innocence, it was taken away, she was so scared, she is so brave. This too was too much, her mind broke into pieces, shattered, many shards, none complete, some unaware of the others. “I do not remember very many things from the inside out. I do not remember what it felt like to touch things, or how bathwater traveled over my skin. I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I want to be held very tight so I would not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder. I hold my breath, I turn my face. I want to cry." - Marcha Hornbacker, Wasted I was 10 when the grooming started, a touch became more, honestly my mind goes to a different place whenever we have these times together, was it just watching a movie? was it just the scenes upon scenes of men on women, women on men, with moans and groans? Did he really touch me? Was it just a hand and a kiss? Was it more? Why did I bleed? It is all a blur, my body wasn't mine, and from then on, it will never truly be mine again. but the body responded, it cannot be with consent, it cannot be longing, it responded so that we could survive, we are broken, but we had to go to a place where we can keep some of us intact, we did what we have to to survive, how alone and scared, she must have felt, how much hatred to attempt suicide at age 10, 12, 13, 14. How broken and ashamed, how much self betrayal had to happen. And how much more work remaind to be done, that too, like that gap in her stretches and stretches. 2022 We survived, you know that, right, hard won, hard faught. But also we have lost so much time, we have lost so much future, this life, isn't fair. I want more from this life, I deserve more that what it is offering me now, but I do not dare to want love and safety. the world remains unsafe, it turns and turns, we are better, but also we are different and this difference hurt us so badly. How will we ever live a life that we find acceptable? we are 37, we survived, but, at what cost? * Things to work through in therapy 1) Safe touch 2) Attachment wounds 3) Anger and boundaries