Why I hate being touched

When I was a kid I was the cuddliest little shit imagineable. I loved to be picked up and carried around, I loved to sit in people's laps, I loved head pats and kisses. I just loved being loved.

Not anymore though. Not after They were in my life. There was four of Them. Two women...and two men.

The first, a woman, came into my life when I was around seven years old. My dad's fiance. He worked for an oil rigging company so there were sometimes weeks on end when he was gone. This was fine, I was used to it, but then She came into our life. She stayed with me when he was gone so I wouldn't have to stay with my grandparents. She was mean, and told me hateful, disgusting things. She told me men only cared about girls who they could put their Things into. She told me that no one would ever care about me because I was small, and ugly. She would make me cook for Her, and if I burnt the food She'd hit me with a frying pan, or a stirring spoon. Once, during a time when my dad had to leave for almost a full month to go offshore she locked me in my room, only letting me out to use the bathroom maybe once a day. She gave me water and crackers to eat but nothing else, telling me that unless I did as She said I'd always be ugly, and no one would love me. She told me if I told my dad what She was doing to me he wouldn't love me anymore because I made Her have to go away.

But I told him anyway...I couldn't stand it. It hurt too much. So She was gone. My dad still loved me, and while I flinched whenever someone raised their hand too fast I still loved to be loved.

Then the second Her came. I was ten. She told me I was nasty, that I was unloved because I'd hit puberty early. She told me God made me grow breasts and bleed because I was sinful and gluttonous. She would lock the cabinets so I couldn't eat, telling me it was the only way to stop the sin in me. My dad let her do it. She didn't hit me like the first Her did. She only said Things. She said that the affection I was so happy to receive was a sin. That hugging my father was Bad. That I should walk behind Her not beside her. That I shouldn't look anyone in the face. It was 4 long years of this before my dad finally left her. She killed my dog and told me that my dad and I would go to hell. She called the police and told them that my dad was performing incestous acts with me. A lady with a smile too big for her face and a maroon dress came. She took me away for two long months.

I was returned to my dad...but the damage was done. I couldn't stand to be hugged, or kissed, I couldn't look anyone in the face. I couldn't stand beside my dad. I couldn't even speak when others were around. I asked if I was allowed to eat before every meal. Even now; I catch myself flinching away from a hug, or hesitant to take food when offered. I still can't look anyone in the eye, and I still walk behind my dad and his new wife. Some things just don't change.

I was sixteen when I met Them. The two Men who finalized my hatred for contact. I dated one of Them. He was older, at least 18, and He always wore black. He had long black hair that always looked wet, and the most beautiful blue eyes. I thought I loved him. He took me into the woods. He told me I was special. I told Him I wasn't ready. He told me I was. I tried to play it off. He wouldn't take no for an answer. It hurt. It hurt so bad and so deeply. It still hurts. I still see His crooked smile. His blue eyes. I still can't walk in the woods.

But the final nail in the coffin was the other Him. He was my friend. He comforted me after His attack. He told me it wasn't my fault. He told me He loved me. We dated for two years. We were eighteen. He stayed late so we could watch movies together. He held me in his lap even when I tried to get up and leave. He tore my favourite shirt. He told me He couldn't resist. I cried.

The next day I told my dad. My dad wanted to call the police but my step grandmother told me it was my fault. "She shouldn't have let Him stay so late" she said "She should have known better than to sit in His lap." she said. I felt dirty. Unclean. Disgusting.

I still feel that way.

I can't stand being touched. I hate the thought of anyone hugging me, or trying to kiss me. I flinch away when someone tries to hold my hand. I refuse to sit next to someone. The thought of their shoulder or leg touching mine is unbearable. I can't even hold my little sister without feeling panic, and fear. I feel so lonely. So unloved. And yet I can't stand the affection that I want to feel again. It's too much.

It just hurts too much.