Addict: Setting the World on Fire

Dear Someone,

I hate it when mom touches me. It makes me feel so sick and dirty. Unclean. In the worst possible way. See, I can handle with sins I’ve done against myself. I don’t mind the scars I’ve afflicted myself mentally or physically. I so choose to hurt myself, and I can cope. But when someone infects, contaminates, touches me in the manner she does, it drives me utterly insain on the inside. Whenever she tries to hug me I scramble out of reach. When she even places a hand on me I feel repulsed and disgusted and disgusting. I normally at once, when finally out of contact, claw at the area infected to relieve myself of the memory of her kind, contaminating, and loving touch. It’s repulsive and terrible. How sick she makes me feel cannot be described except that when her flesh hits mine, I find it more terrible and daunting and gross than the electric chair.
A mother’s love is more fear-riddled and profoundly haunting than most of my nightmares. Because in mammals touch is more affecting than sight.