“Disliking human touch doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you,” she says soothingly. “In fact, it’s more common than you might think. Contact that catches you by surprise might cause a reaction simply because you were not expecting or prepared for it.”
“But what if…what if it happens even when Iamprepared for it?” I ask, voice tight with the worry I can no longer hide. I need her to fix me. I need her to tell me exactly what’s wrong, and what I can do to be better. I need to not worry about what will happen if I want to hold someone’s hand. If I want to hold Nate’s hand.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what’s been happening,” she suggests.
“Some days it’ll be a good day, and I already know it is because when I think about someone touching me, it doesn’t make me feel anxious, you know? But…but I could be having a really good day, and I could be—” I pause, unsure of whether I want to tell this virtual stranger about me having sex. She’s clearly good at her job, though, because she fills in the blanks without blinking an eye.
“Are you able to be intimate with another person when you are having a ‘good day’?” she asks.
“Yes, and no. The last time I was with someone I was doing really good until I wasn’t.”
“And what happened then?”
“I got all sweaty, and my chest felt a little tight. My whole body was hot, like the heat was cranked up in the room.”
“All right. And this was a consensual encounter?”
I fidget again, paper crunching under my ass. “Yes. Ofcourse. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to touch him, I just…it’s hard. And I worry about it all the time. I can’t think of anything else anymore.”
“All right,” she repeats. “What you’re describing could be a form of haphephobia, which is essentially extreme distress over being touched.”
“I don’t have aphobia,” I argue immediately, gut clenching with humiliation. “I’m not afraid of people touching me.”
“There is nothing shameful about it if you did,” she tells me. “And perhaps you are not there yet, but even a minor form of touch aversion is distressing and could easily cause problems in your daily life. Particularly for someone as young as you. I imagine you’ve been having a tough time.”
“I just…I just want it to stop. I want to go back to normal—like I was before. I didn’t like it when people touched me, sure, but at least I didn’t freak out about it.” I can’t hide the disgust and self-loathing in my voice, and I know she can hear it.
“Your sophomore year,” she prompts gently. “That’s a pretty specific time frame. Was there anything that happened on top of the already stressful experience of moving schools?”
I shrug my shoulder in a nervous twitch, and look away.
“Marcos.” I meet her eyes again. “PTSD responses look different for everyone. You—who already have a predisposition for disliking uninvited contact—might find yourself with a more extreme form of touch aversion after experiencing a trauma. Did something happen your sophomore year, Marcos?”
“I…well, yeah. My best friend, Max…” I square my shoulders and harden my jaw as I look at her. I have to tell her what I did. “I took my best friend to a party; someone roofied him,before bringing him into a bedroom and raping him. I took him there. I took him there, and then I left him, and he got hurt.”
She doesn’t even blink as I spit the words out roughly. I wait for her to look at me the way I deserve to be looked at—like I’m a piece of shit. Like I’m a failure. I’m the one at fault, as surely as if I dropped the Rohypnol into his drink myself.
“Marcos.” I clench my jaw at the kind, almost soothing way she says my name. She obviously doesn’t understand. If she did, she wouldn’t be able to look at me with sympathy in her eyes. “A trauma such as that is going to effect?—”
“Nothing happened tome. I’m fine.”
“Something did happen to you, Marcos. Touch can be strongly associated with negative experiences and trigger anxieties. The traumayouexperienced with your friend has placed an enormous amount of stress on you, and likely has a great deal to do with your current struggles.”
“So, that’s it?” I ask, a tad desperately. “I’m just stressed? If I relaxed a little bit, it wouldn’t bother me when people touched me?”
“Sometimes, incredibly empathetic people struggle with situations such as these. Yes, I do believe a certain amount of self-care and stress reduction would benefit you greatly. However, there are a couple other things we could try as well. I can start you on an anti-anxiety medication, and I would also like to refer you to a colleague of mine. Dr. Rosen is a psychologist who specializes in CBT, or cognitive behavioral therapy, which has proven beneficial in treating PTSD.”
Wishing I was wearing pants so that I could dry my suddenly sweaty palms, I swallow around the lump in my throat. My mouth issodry.
“That sounds extreme,” I manage to get out.
“Even just a few sessions may help,” she replies. “In the meantime, I want you to do an exercise in considering what self-care looks like for you. Sometimes making a list can help—write down all the things you do for yourself, and then write down all the things you do for others. If the lists aren’t even, that is a good place to start. Make time for yourself, Marcos. A time when you aren’t thinking of others, or living in a way that serves someone else. Another thing to try would be simple exposure therapy: think about touching someone on the arm and then physically do it. You don’t have to make it extreme—start with small, safe touches with people you trust. Condition your brain to stop connecting touch with a negative biological response.”
“Okay,” I croak, voice embarrassingly emotional. I need to pull myself together.
“Do you have anyone you can talk to at home?” she asks, eyes kind. I nod, even though I’ve been afraid of truly talking to Max since everything happened. How incredibly selfish would I be to dump my problems on him when he was already struggling? It’s better I suffer in silence than hurt him more.
“Yeah. My roommate, Max. My friend. The one who…” I trail off. I can’t say it again.
