I
wish I had a bubble.
Ideally it would surround me, move with me, so that nobody could touch me, it would buffer sounds, it would deflect anything/anyone trying to hurt me or get too close to me. Because of all of the physical violence I've endured I find more and more that I really don't like being touched. I used to be a touchy-feely person. I loved holding someone's hand, getting hugs, feeling someone's hand on my shoulder as companionship or comfort.
I learned a while back that I can't handle a massage. I was offered a free massage at a support group as a method of relaxation. I had never had one before and looked forward to it. Then as soon as it started I was immediately transported back to when my ex would come up behind me and hold me down, hands all over me, a foot or arm across my neck or throat to hold me still, elbows jabbing my back to make me stay still, a kick in the head to make me stay put. I was frozen in place and couldn't move, literally stuck there until it was finished. Thus I will never again have a massage, because although it's intended to be a good thing, for me it's literally torture. At the hospice where I volunteer they do free massages every Friday. The woman running it would see me there doing groceries and always offer me one. It was very considerate of her, particularly since they were often booked up, but every time I had to turn her down. I always felt bad that she'd think I was being rude, but I couldn't tell her why, it's not a reason I go around advertising.
A hand on my shoulder, especially unexpected, makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I startle easily, more easily than a lot of people ever expect ... they often think I'm over-reacting, and I am, but not intentionally. It comes from the same source, one of being attacked from behind, being dragged off to have unspeakable things done to me,
If anyone's going to touch me at all, it has to be someone I know really well. Someone I know 100% for sure isn't going to hurt me, physically or otherwise. That is a very short list.
The other day I was reminded that if I ever got fat I would be shot. He has always said that fat people (and children) should all be shot, as he has no use for any of them. I had mis-heard something and thought he'd called me fat and he reminded me if I was, that he could easily get a gun at any time and he would shoot me. He wasn't kidding (though really, who would ever kid about something like that). So my bubble would also have to be bulletproof.
Preferably my bubble would be slightly opaque, so people couldn't really see me completely or clearly. Then if the tears that live directly behind my eyes all the time happened to break free I wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing. I wouldn't have to worry that someone was looking at me, scrutinizing, criticizing, ready to break me down. I could just walk through a crowd virtually unnoticed.
The problem with bubbles is that although it would keep out all the bad things, it would also keep out all the good things. Like a warm hug from a sister, the smiles of friends, conversations with normal, decent people about anything and nothing.
For now I'll keep my imaginary bubble around me,
protecting me from the known and unknown..... then hopefully when the
time is right I'll take out a pin and burst it and just walk right out
of it and into the sunshine.
Ideally it would surround me, move with me, so that nobody could touch me, it would buffer sounds, it would deflect anything/anyone trying to hurt me or get too close to me. Because of all of the physical violence I've endured I find more and more that I really don't like being touched. I used to be a touchy-feely person. I loved holding someone's hand, getting hugs, feeling someone's hand on my shoulder as companionship or comfort.
I learned a while back that I can't handle a massage. I was offered a free massage at a support group as a method of relaxation. I had never had one before and looked forward to it. Then as soon as it started I was immediately transported back to when my ex would come up behind me and hold me down, hands all over me, a foot or arm across my neck or throat to hold me still, elbows jabbing my back to make me stay still, a kick in the head to make me stay put. I was frozen in place and couldn't move, literally stuck there until it was finished. Thus I will never again have a massage, because although it's intended to be a good thing, for me it's literally torture. At the hospice where I volunteer they do free massages every Friday. The woman running it would see me there doing groceries and always offer me one. It was very considerate of her, particularly since they were often booked up, but every time I had to turn her down. I always felt bad that she'd think I was being rude, but I couldn't tell her why, it's not a reason I go around advertising.
A hand on my shoulder, especially unexpected, makes me nearly jump out of my skin. I startle easily, more easily than a lot of people ever expect ... they often think I'm over-reacting, and I am, but not intentionally. It comes from the same source, one of being attacked from behind, being dragged off to have unspeakable things done to me,
If anyone's going to touch me at all, it has to be someone I know really well. Someone I know 100% for sure isn't going to hurt me, physically or otherwise. That is a very short list.
The other day I was reminded that if I ever got fat I would be shot. He has always said that fat people (and children) should all be shot, as he has no use for any of them. I had mis-heard something and thought he'd called me fat and he reminded me if I was, that he could easily get a gun at any time and he would shoot me. He wasn't kidding (though really, who would ever kid about something like that). So my bubble would also have to be bulletproof.
Preferably my bubble would be slightly opaque, so people couldn't really see me completely or clearly. Then if the tears that live directly behind my eyes all the time happened to break free I wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing. I wouldn't have to worry that someone was looking at me, scrutinizing, criticizing, ready to break me down. I could just walk through a crowd virtually unnoticed.
The problem with bubbles is that although it would keep out all the bad things, it would also keep out all the good things. Like a warm hug from a sister, the smiles of friends, conversations with normal, decent people about anything and nothing.
