I’ll continue to be that person that calls out on Valentine’s day, who escapes group hugs by tying her shoe, and who will only smile when there is an attempt to pass a baby my way.
I sustain myself on malnourishment while others claim it fulfills them in ways that food comforts a hungry belly. I don’t really understand why most people crave it. I seem normal most days because I can keep it to myself. I want to scream, “don’t fucking touch me!” I make the person feel like they have cut me and I’m so fucking tired of the confused expression in their eyes. I get the sense of urgency that probably accompanies a suicide from a 30 story rooftop. But what do I fear most? A seemingly harmless embrace from a friend.
I walk miles before taking public transportation. I don’t know if I ever really did.” The bugs begin to crawl again and overcome me. There is no devastation like the words, “I don’t love you anymore. I can’t tell you about some terrible trauma because I simply don’t remember what happened to me. What does it feel like to me? Pins and needles, ice and fire… tiny bugs crawling up and down my skin… an urge to escape myself and all that is touch and sensation.įor as long as I can remember, I have been this way.
