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Archive for April, 2013

Don’t touch me.

No, I don’t have to explain why.  This is not a subject for discussion or debate.  Don’t touch me.

Why can’t I say those words?

When someone touches me and it makes me feel uncomfortable, I shut down.  I freeze up.  I laugh with overflowing anxiety and try to step away, and yet they want to know why I don’t want them to touch me.

If I say please stop, they ask why.

If I try to come up with an excuse because the words I really want to say are stuck in my throat, they argue with me as if they can somehow prove that I really do want them to touch me, proven I am wrong.  About my body.  And whether I want them touching me.

Don’t touch me.

I should not have to tell you no for you to stop, you should have to gain my yes before you start.  Why can’t you understand the difference?

Why do you start when I haven’t said you can?

Why can’t you stop when I say stop?

People think I’m strong.  People who know me think I’m so strong that they don’t understand this is where I’m weak.  This is where I seize with fear and try to get away but they won’t let me because if I really wanted to get away, surely I’d *make* them stop.  Because I’m so strong.

Get me off this fucking pedestal, I’m afraid of heights!  Stop putting conditions on me, stop acting as if the burden is on me to make you stop.   Just stop touching me.

Why won’t you just stop?

Why should I have to dress for battle because I decided to leave my house?  Why should I have to wage war for the right to own myself, my body?  Why should I have to make you stop touching me?

Why can’t you just stop?  Why can’t you prevent yourself from violating my boundaries?  Why can’t you understand that when I pull away, it’s because I don’t want you touching me?  Why can’t you understand that if I don’t enjoy this, continuing it isn’t going to make it more enjoyable.

Why can’t you understand that the default condition of my permission is not yes.  Why can’t you see that you don’t own a single part of me, you aren’t entitled to my body, you aren’t entitled to receive one ounce of pleasure that I don’t want to give you.

Stop touching me.

Why can’t I say it?  Why can’t I be that strong?

Just stop touching me.

Sometimes my PTSD gets in the way of the words I want to say.  You don’t need to know my whole history to know that when I stay stop touching me, you need to stop touching me.  This isn’t about what happened to me when I was 6, or when I was 14, or when I was 17, or when I was 27.  This isn’t about my last relationship or my relationship with my parents.  This isn’t about therapy or your best friend or the last one who wronged you.

This is about me telling you to stop touching me.

So don’t touch me.

No, I don’t have to explain why.  This is not a subject for discussion or debate.  Don’t touch me.

There is no excuse to touch a person who does not want you to touch them.  I don’t care if it’s a hug, if it’s a tickle, if it’s a caress, if it’s hit, if it’s sex, if it’s you trying to force them to touch you.  I don’t care if it’s a man to a woman, a woman to a man, a man to a man, a woman to a woman. There is no excuse to touch a person who does not want you to touch them.

How do you know if someone does not want you to touch them?  Ask.  If they can’t answer, assume the answer is no.

Yes is not the default.

Okay is not implied.

Permission is not unspoken.

Consent is not silent.

Victims are not at fault.

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