Undone

I’m juvenile when I’m ill, or upset.

I had a bad dream yesterday morning. It shook me pretty bad. I had a panic attack and the things I could usually handle, I couldn’t anymore. (like going out in public…) I have this fear of people. Now I know the general populous isn’t out to get me, but when i’m in panic attack mode, they are. Every last one person who isn’t in my little circle (Scott, Family, and a few friends) are out to get me. I was in the fetal position on my recliner in my front room. I wasn’t feeling so swell.

I had wound down quite a bit by the time when Scott and I got to talk.

Anyway. Before you ask, I don’t want to talk about my dream. I can almost guarantee you weren’t a part of it. If i told you WHAT happened in it, you’d regret ever knowing as the experience would rip any sort of innocence you have in your body away. (I don’t care to share that experience) You’re not gonna know. I’m not gunna tell you. I won’t tell mom, I won’t tell dad, i won’t tell Scott. Sorry. No. I can guarantee you, you dont’ want to know. So leave it be.

Derringer Meryl [Disturbed] Out

I’ve never considered myself weak, only kind.

However I draw the line exclusively at touching. You touch me, and i WILL react in a violent manner. I may regret it later, but no matter what, It will be violent. Tonight at work with the Mouth and a parttimer i voiced my extreme dislike for being touched….

And then promptly was touched BY the parttimer.

Let me clarify what I constitute as touching. I have a bubble. I’ve had this bubble for a long time. It surrounds me, and if you invade it, that’s okay, just get out of it fast…. that’s just invading my space. Touching means a part of YOUR body comes into contact with a part of MY body. It’s very simple.

Now, this wasn’t a simple pat on the arm. NO. This was, he slipped his arm along my back and attempted to scoot me out of the way– he did this instead of asking me to move, or more appropriately tapping me on the shoulder, he instead tried to move me forcibly by putting his arm around my waist.

Before I sound like a crazy, I know there is only about three feet behind the counter space (depth wise) and that there isnt’ a lot of space to maneuver. The occasional brush of someone against someone else is NOT unheard of. Hell, I’m used to that.

This was intentional contact, in, in my opinion, inappropriate ways. I don’t LIKE to be touched. I hate it. I told him I hated it.

Then he touched me. Does anyone else see what’s wrong with this? I do.

*shudders* I hid behind the Mouth for the most of the rest of the night. I became quiet and withdrawn. I hate being touched. Being touched reminds me of things– memories long since forgotten– I wanted to hide, i wanted to be away from the store.

For the first time in my two years and three months of working at the store, I felt uncomfortable there. Emotionally. I’ve hated my co-workers– I’ve hated my managers. I’ve hated the customers, but all the while i’ve been safe.

Now I don’t feel like it so much. I don’t know why– but it’s not safe there anymore.

Derringer Meryl [In Need of Help] Out