Sometimes, you know how and when you got hurt. I'll never forget the time I broke my arm. Or the time that I hit my head so hard I lost hearing for 14 hours. Or that time a guy sprained my wrist because I was trying to take his keys from him to keep him from driving drunk. You remember the big ones.
For those of us easy bruisers, sometimes, I have no idea how I got hurt. Right now for instance. I have deep bruises on both of my thumbs. Like the deep, holy crap it aches so much every time I move, bruise. That I didn't have this morning. That I have absolutely no idea how I got. I ran over the night (fantastic Sunday Funday night) in my head and I cannot remember a single incident in where identical bruises on my thumbs could have happened.
And that's a lot like life. The big wounds, we remember how and when we got them. We work on healing those. And then suddenly, we'll stumble across a wound that we have no idea how or when it got there. But we can feel it. And it hurts. Mostly, they just go away with time, they slowly heal themselves. And we try not to bump into that drawer again. Or stub our toe on that exact same chair leg.
The analogy sort of falls apart at this point, but stay with me. I haven't liked people touching my face for years. But it wasn't until 2 years ago that I put the pieces together that I didn't like people touching my face because my ex used to touch it with a slap, a degrading touch, and thusly anyone touching my face in anyway made me jumpy. I had it so ingrained into me to avoid stubbing that toe that even once the chair was removed, I still walked around that spot, just to make sure. It was in my subconscious. Don't walk there or it'll hurt.
And frankly, my subconscious has a point. Make sure I never get a similar model (anyone who uses touch to hurt or degrade) but better to just avoid the area. Except it was an area that robbed me of something I want, something I need, and walking around it was doing it's own damage.
Tonight... tonight I asked a person that I know loves me, that I trust with my life, heart, and soul, to touch my face because I honestly could not remember the last time someone had. I wanted to know what it felt like, to have my face touched in genuine affection. And I trusted him. I knew he would never, ever hurt me. That he would never, ever, use touch to wound or degrade. I knew he loved me. And it was still hard. I felt stupid asking for it. But I'm glad I did. I was moved to tears. It felt... amazing. His touch was so soft, so gentle. He cradled my face, traced my cheek bone with his thumb. I felt so loved. I didn't just know I was loved, I wasn't told I was loved, I felt I was loved. His touch communicated the sweet tenderness of brotherly love that words can never fully express.
And part of my heart came back to life. I want more. I want more hugs, longer hugs. I want people I love and trust to touch me in any way they wish to express platonic affection. I want to explore this form of self expression. I want someone to play with my hair. I want someone to hold my hand. I want someone to kiss me on the forehead. I want someone to put their arm around me. Shoulder and waist. I want to sit on someone's lap and truly get comfortable. I want... to learn and explore touch. I'm behind. I completely shut off any and all expression given and received through touch over four years ago.
To be clear, not a single word of this blog was about romantic touch. Nor is it an expression of desire for more touch in general. Strangers should still refrain from touching me. It is all about touch used as a means of affectionate expression. Platonic, innocent, affectionate expression. So... no more. I want to feel the touch of my loved and trusted friends. I want to actually feel it.
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