Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
It's why I moved to the mountains of Tennessee several years ago. I needed the isolation and the social interactions on my terms. It's why I have a schedule for shopping and avoid the high-traffic areas of Gatlinburg. Everything I do in life is controlled by my fears, and despite my years of therapy, I still haven't gotten to the bottom of why any of this occurs at all.
It might be easier to heal if I could identify what made me this way, but there have been no revelations. I don't have a specific incident from childhood or as a teen or young adult that I can pinpoint might be the cause. I've just always had a very severe aversion to people touching me.
It's made life, friendships, and relationships very difficult. Actually, they've been impossible.
There's a scale of how intolerable touch is for me.
Children don't bother me at all. Their touch doesn't even register as something negative. It's why I chose a career path working with children.
Female friends just make my skin crawl a little.
Male acquaintances make my stomach turn, and a male I don't know even bumping into me by accident has the power to make me literally scream and cry.
The nights I spent at the club, allowing men to touch me, were the hardest thing I've ever had to do. How I managed without turning into a banshee is beyond me, but even having that control doesn't feel like progress.
"We could start over again with the isolated therapy," Dr. Moorse says, breaking the long silence.
"We've already done that," I remind her.
The isolated therapy included one man in the privacy of the controlled setting of Dr. Moore's office. It was rough at first, but then got better over time. We managed to go from simple touches on the arm to more intimate touching. Just when I felt healed, Dr. Moore suggested taking it a step further with the club atmosphere.
Getting tied to a St. Andrew's cross in a sex club was not a first step in therapy. We were hoping it would be one of the last steps. It took me over eighteen months of hard work to get there, and being unable to handle it very well has been like a punch to the gut, leaving me feeling like a failure.
"It's going to take more time," she says again, and I feel like I've heard that a million times by this point in my therapy. "Maybe a break before you go back again?"
I want to argue and tell her that I just completely give up. Being alone forever doesn't seem so bad compared to the alternative, does it?
I know better. Sometimes, I'm so lonely, and Kiva is great, but a dog's companionship isn't the same as human interaction. If anything, I just want to no longer be broken, even if I never find a lasting relationship.
"Was the man who made you slightly more comfortable there more than once?"
"No," I answer, hating that the idea of seeing him a second time is all that made going to participate after that first night even mildly tolerable. After four more nights of him not being there, I figured his attendance was a one-off, and I'd likely never see him again.
It makes me not want to return even more.
"Have you sat with the idea of why he made you feel more comfortable?"
I pull in a deep breath before responding. "This isn't about one person in particular."
"But maybe it is," she counters. "At times, there are other factors than attraction that make one subconsciously aware that someone might be important in their life, Caitlyn."
"He only stands out because he didn't rush to touch me," I counter, remembering how he watched me from across the room before approaching to check on me.
A rush of frustrated air leaves her lips, crackling in the phone. "We could try shock therapy."
I huff a humorless laugh.
"I'll give going back consideration," I say. It's the only thing I can offer right now.
I make no guarantees at this point.
"Grab an appointment for next week on my online scheduler, and we can talk more about it then," she says. "Caitlyn. I'm proud of you for making it all five nights."
The call ends, and I feel a wave of guilt for being glad it's over.
I know more than most how hard therapy is. I also know its healing power, and I know that some traumas can't be completely cured. You never know until someone gets to the root of their issues whether healing will happen. The road to restoring your mental health is always long and arduous.
Knowing all this still doesn't help me gain any more insight into my own healing. I want to avoid it altogether at this point, but I know that's not the smart thing to do.
I place my phone on the coffee table and give Kiva all my attention, using both hands to rub her little belly. She sneezes, something she always does when she's on her back, and it makes me laugh to see her body bow up in preparation.