It's the fear of touching or being touched by people. It feels like my life depends on my personal bubble not rupturing. Handshakes are absolutely dreadful. The "brief" moment where my palm touches another man's palm burns in agony. Any mind reader would recoil from the deafening scream inside my head from the irrational panic that overtakes me. A pat on the back becomes a baseball bat blow, causing cold sweats and convulsions that linger after the incident.
It feels pathetic. Why should such an insignificant touch affect me so? It takes such effort to suppress the noticeable results when someone happens to touch me. I've been able to control compulsive shouts of, "Don't touch me!" whenever someone oblivious to this fear steps over the line. Progress has been made: I sometimes accept hugs or hand them out to friends who truly need it (although I never touch them with my hands, just forearms). But anything unexpected can cause pure dread: my delicate personal bubble does contain my life.
I liked the way you wrote this post - "baseball bat blow" is clever.
ReplyDeleteI agree, I am the same way, though I usually just reluctantly accept handshakes and am done with it. Maybe everyone like us should just found some country on a little island where everyone respects personal bubbles.