I DON'T NEED TO HOLD YOUR HAND TO SAY THIS...

Don't Touch Me Unless I Give You Permission - A SA Survivor Story

TRIGGER WARNING: THIS ARTICLE DISCUSSES SEXUAL ABUSE

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I generally don’t like to be TOUCHED.

At least not without my consent — and at most only by those I really trust.

Some think it’s an AUDHD thing — I’m a whole lotta neurospicy — but it aint the TISM in my IZM that got me fucked up on physical intrusions to my circumference of comfort.

I have been gratuitously TOUCHED since I was 2 years old.

That’s the earliest I can remember — and I’m assuming it was since birth.

It was the cheeks, the hair, the thighs — the WHATEVER someone wanted to squeeze because I was “so cute”.

It was family, it was strangers, it was people at church, people at the muthafucking grocery store.

NEVER ENDING rassclot TOUCHING.

It wasn’t always sexual — although my highly attuned empathic n telepathic abilities could spot a petting predator a mile away — but it was always inappropiate and UNWELCOMED.

I was clear even from then that I was UNCOMFORTABLE.

I was FORCED to say “thank you” to lecherous adults who complimented me as they squeezed some piece of my body and told me I was cute.

It didn’t give me a big head — it filled me with rage that I couldn’t tell them not to TOUCH me.

Not to STARE the way they did.

Oh no — that would be RUDE.

Besides — they were only pinching my cheeks or getting their dutty fingers caught in my curly fro, right?

Meanwhile — they stared into my “beautiful, seductive eyes” and I could see their truest intentions for what they wanted to do with my cuteness.

They wanted to ruin me with their TOUCH.

Their ENERGY was darker than the melanin of my Ancestors.

One of my close older female family members was jealous of my attention and would only be nice to me if I let her TOUCH me.

More specifically, I was to pretend I was a MAN who was trying to seduce her so that she could feel wanted.

If I played this touching game, I was safe from her manic manipulations of psychological proportions for about a week.

Or until she felt some type ah way again.

This had started from the age of 6 until somewhere in my 10th year of being dreadfully alive.

Another close male family member who was older than me seemingly always had eyes and hands for me.

He was always finding ways to brush up on me, poke at me, press against me.

My mother could see it too and would tell us we couldn’t hang out in rooms alone together.

But we did.

I would try to preoccupy him with our common interests but he’d look at me with the same eyes of predatory sexual intention I had seen from the adults.

He’d try to start something and I’d try to deflect.

I didn’t want to get him in trouble.

Shit — I didn’t want to get in trouble either cuz I would be blamed for going with him when I was told not to.

The last time he aggressively tried anything was in the kitchen when I was about ten years old.

I had already been developing chesticles by then so I guess his teenage lust was getting more out of hand.

He had pinned me on the ground and started to dry hump on top of me while kissing my forehead with his eyes closed.

I can remember it like it was TODAY.

I started crying silently so I wouldn’t call attention and get in trouble.

This time I was more afraid of him than I was of my mother cuz he had developed really troubling psychological issues.

Like animal abuse and arson type shit.

He heard me whimpering and opened his eyes.

He snapped out his demonic lust when he saw the horror in my eyes.

Once again he told me not to tell and got off of me.

And once again I was conditioned to neglect my discomfort and pain of unwelcomed physical TOUCH.

IN SILENCE.

He never touched me like THAT again because he saw the rage that it ignited and I know it scared him.

It scared me.

Cuz before then I had just been pushing down my discomfort with male and female teachers trying to target me with TOUCH.

I had been pushing down discomfort of lingering hugs and touches from male and female church members.

In fact — I turned that rage into weaponized sexuality to get what I wanted from people.

I had learned from 6 years old truly what it meant to be sexy to others.

Being SEDUCTIVE was the easiest form of persuasion and sense of control over who could TOUCH my body.

People love to play the game in hope to win a ride on the Tantalizing Tab.

I didn’t just have light skinned privilege — I had Sexual Goddess privilege.

But it took a lot of unwanted touching to understand the magnetic power I possessed.

And that last hellish rendez-vous with that male family member ignited an internal raging fire in my throat chakra that prohibited me from speaking out my hurt.

So I tried to quench it with alcohol.

Didn’t go so well but that’s another story for another time.

I decided from grade 5 — grade 8 I would wear extra baggy clothing.

I was such a tomboy anyway so I didn’t want the boys to stop letting me play sports with them when they realized they were getting beat by a girl in a C cup.

I even went as far to tape them down for a while.

I kinda think it made them grow even faster.

In any case, my bra strap broke while I was hooping in grade 6 so it became an issue and they told me to play with the girls.

But I didn’t want to play with the girls.

They were toooo touchy feely, manipulative and emotionally vindictive.

They were also very white and I was very not.

They were toooo intrigued and jealous about my developing body.

They were worse than the boys — pretending to accidentally bump into me to know what my breasts and butt felt like.

While they wanted to talk about EMOTIONS, I was trying to be NUMB inside.

I didn’t want to be TOUCHED inside OR out.

I got into high school and decided to be a BAD BITCH.

Big Titty Tab.

The baddest tease with ease.

Girls and guys would do anything in hopes to get a squeeze.

Girls wanted to touch my hair, my ass, my chesiticality.

Guys wanted to touch everything attached to my pheromones that wafted through the halls.

I didn’t respect the sanctity of my body.

I treated it like a commodity to get what I wanted and established a SUPREME order for these muthfuckas to put SUPERFICIAL RESPECT on my shit.

I went from baggy clothes to plunging necklines, tight EVERYTHING, and short whatever.

I was also trying to distract em from my jacked up teeth and my deep seeded insecurity about my racial ambiguity and fluctuating weight.

My mother was just so happy I wasn’t dressing like a stud anymore that she was far more lenient about my wardrobe at times that I was sure her strict ass was going to shut me down.

In any case, I had stopped believing I was ever going to be loved FOR REAL or find a FAITHFUL man to marry.

Married men — and ones in seemingly loving committed relationships — all tried to sneak a TOUCH from me.

A lot of times much more than just a TOUCH.

It didn’t matter how pious or prudent or prude a man pretended to be — they would show thine ass to me.

And I was disgusted.

My DAD is probably the ONLY man I can vouch for that stayed 100% non lecherous around me and faithful to his woman.

For better and a lot of WORSE.

But who really knows how he was with all the ladies that chased him down tryna get him to leave my mother.

In any case, this whole TOUCHING nonsense turned me into a welcome SIDE CHICK.

I wasn’t tryna be the main girl being played a FOOL by a man who can’t keep his hands or other extremities to himself.

What’s crazy is these men I would be using for my gratification would try to leave their girl for me.

I’d laugh in their rassclot faces.

I mean, it’s not that crazy because besides my toxic side chick mentality, I had all the qualities to make a fantastic wife.

But I knew there wasn’t a man WORTHY of my effort.

Not when all they wanted to do is TOUCH.

By my mid twenties I decided I needed to address the damage this pent up RAGE and disfunction had caused me.

I was killing myself with numbing addictions in a silent hell of pain that had caused me to be raped on more than one occasion.

I was at the point of two choices: SUICIDE or heal the shit inside to ASCEND and THRIVE.

I did the latter and climbed the spiritual ladder.

I transmuted that demonic shit and used my gift of TOUCH to heal others.

Now I PULL legions out of people who have been afflicted n constricted by spiritual and physical warfare.

I go PALM to PALM with those who I hear internally screaming to extract the darkness suffocating their life force and light source.

I HUG out generational curses and rebuild space for the Ancestors to safely return for protection and direction.

I use this power of TOUCH on MY TERMS.

I still flinch sometimes at uninvited TOUCH but I’ve gotten better at expressing my boundaries to those of y’all who possess this as your inherent love language.

I’ve also gotten better at RECEIVING it with GRATITUDE not anxiety.

It’s unfortunate that it took my generation’s pent up trauma to finally start addressing the dark fucked up side of this intrusive societal norm.

I’m glad to witness the next generations after me being taught a bit better that it’s ok for children to refuse people from touching them if they’re not comfortable.

Whew!

After all that — I could actually go for a hug.

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Preshate y’all for tuning in.

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