I like to feel the rain trickling down my skin on a cool, breezy day. That sharp contrast of the earliest rain drops, I am both wet and dry, both temperate and cold. The tension in my muscles lessens and I feel a spark of aliveness.
I like how sometimes I’ll make eye contact with someone at just the right moment, and we both laugh and start talking. It’s as though, for some time, my soul is sharing the same frequency as theirs. It’s spontaneous and playful, and it fills my heart with joy.
I enjoy my observations of people and reality. Behavior and the processes that lead to that behavior fascinate me more than anything.
These are the things that keep me here.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that people like me aren’t meant to exist.
I don’t think people are meant to survive an abusive mental health system. I probably ought to be drooling in solitary confinement.
But here I am.
I feel so lost.
There is this one thing, I need to work on. I don’t know what causes this or why I feel the way I do, but I think it is the basis for a lot of my discomfort around people.
Human contact is essential to thrive.
Yet, human touch causes this intense inner feeling, like I am being skinned alive. It takes so much energy to contain my instinct to writhe, pull back, or get away.
It is the worst feeling.
90% or more of the time, I feel perfectly happy and peaceful to be by myself. But the rest of the time, it’s as though being untouched kills me inside.
I am not sure how to sort this out. Where the body is concerned, I am at a total loss as to what to do.