You Can’t Touch This

It is amazing what comes to light when you are in remission from a major mental health issue that dominated your life.

Did you know I have major sensory issues? I didn’t. Until it slowly dawned on me over the past few months. Pat, the ever observant husband whom knows me almost too well, has known much longer. But I’m betting not too many other people realize it. However, he both knows me and what to look for.  (My mom’s response was “duh” so that makes 2 confirmed.)

I don’t really know when I realized.  I think I just started noticing it in Luke and then started recognizing it in myself as well, as an after thought.  And then when I finally put thought to it I’m all, “Whoa that explains so very, very much!”  And I’m like, “Husband, did you realize that I have major sensory issues that go beyond just the hair thing?”  And he’s all, “Fucking duh, wife!”  Well no, there was no cursing.  Just patient understanding while I talked out almost 30 years of being overly sensitive to touch.

And possibly light.

Maybe even sound.

He maintains that I experience a normal degree of sensitivity to sound and light.  I maintain that he suffers migraines so he has a skewed idea of normal in those regards.  Not really sure how I’d ever know.  I know there are times I can’t even stand the glow from my alarm clock.  And even in total darkness I will sleep with a pillow over my head at times to block out the light and sound found in total darkness.  But, I’m also weird and might just enjoy the pressure of it over my eyes.  It seems to block out all senses.

I don’t even know how to begin to explain the degree this explains things.  The list of things explained by this.

Slimy, sticky, tacky, tickily.

The pink stuff those whom work with cash rub their fingers against to get some tackiness to separate the cash, that I can’t stand to touch.

The time my old teller supervisor asked if I wanted some of his nice hand balm and I was so eager to use it until I got some on my hands and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and OMG why are my hands covered in wax that won’t go away and rubbed and rubbed and I’m sorry but I have to go wash this off my hands now.  Then scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed before my hands lost all trace of the feeling of something having been on them.

Greasy lotion, which is the exact opposite of waxy hand balm.  It has to rub in all the way with no trace or I don’t care how much it cost, it is NOT being used, no way no how.

The hair thing, is of course the one obvious thing.  The second my hair is long enough to tickle my ears, my neck, my face, it has to go.  If it doesn’t go, and it brushes anything, I nearly claw my flesh off trying to remove the tickle and I end up having my entire body covered in spiders and bugs creeping all over me with their legs.  Or that’s how it feels when my skin crawls.  As I type, my hair is long enough to touch itself and the skin on my head is crawling.



Warning the following isn’t PG.  It discusses sex.


The fact I can’t stand body fluids of any type.  From sharing a drink with a kid, to a tongue in my moth, to the various juices that come from sex, of a male and female nature, to verify.  That’s why sexually, being with a woman has limited appeal when it comes to me pleasing.  I can’t understand or fathom why anyone would want to eat that.  It’s. So. Slimy.  Hell, sometimes I have issues with Pat going down on me because why would anyone want to. It’s. So. Slimy.

Every now and then I can realize that it’s a love/lust/pleasure thing and I can work past that hang-up but not nearly often enough.

Or the fact while I’m perfectly capable of the big O, I can feel that it is building and I can even actually feel the release but the OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD?  Sorry, can’t feel it.  Doesn’t matter what caused it.  Sensory overload so my body shuts physical senses down to protect me.  From my orgasm.  Just what I need.  Thanks.



Sex talk over.


Fibromyalgia?  It’s common knowledge that fibro is a mental condition.  It’s also generally thought that it is sensory overload.  Why the hell can’t my body protect me from that one!  (If you didn’t read the sex bit, this makes no sense.  Sorry!)  I suppose it tries but it can only shut itself down for so long before it has to give up and I have to feel.

The fact I can’t hug.  I’m sure BPD far from helps with the personal space bubble.  But if you are going to touch me, it needs to be on my terms so I can prepare myself and a you need to use a firm touch. Too light and the spiders are back crawling all over.  Tickle me and the spiders are hairy.  Graze me and they are small but there are millions of them in a concentrated site.

How my skin crawls just talking about this.  Thinking about this.  It becomes overly sensitive to the light touch of my clothing, setting things off.

I’d like to think that this is all a valid reason to refuse to wear pants.

But let’s be honest, I don’t need an excuse to detest pants.  Pants are bullshit.  Any blogger can tell you that.

Yes, I joke.  Because if I can’t laugh at myself, what can I laugh at?  And what is to keep me from despair?  I mean, do I really need to add to my list of mental issues?

Speaking of, I wonder if I should get this added to my file with my meds doc before my file gets closed.  Just so it’s on record somewhere.

Because that file isn’t thick enough as it is.

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