I’m not sure if touch starvation is something that needs to be professionally diagnosed. If so, I don’t have a real diagnosis, so I’m not trying to say that I do, or to self diagnose or anything like that. What I do have, is simply a long list of symptoms that I can relate to. I’ve never really talked to anyone about this. I remember briefly referencing it in a text to a close friend of mine, but I think I made her kind of uncomfortable(?), but that’s about the closest I’ve gotten to discussing it.
I am probably the most awkward person when it comes to physical contact. I can barely bring myself to hug my family, let alone my friends. And as far as friends go, I have to be really comfortable with them if I don’t mind them hugging me. There’s maybe four or five people outside of my family that I can think of off the top of my head that I don’t mind touching me.
Being touch starved and also really awkward in situations involving physical contact is weird, and it kind of sucks. I want a hug so bad. That’s all. Just a hug. But how can I hug someone if I don’t feel comfortable with anyone?
Again, it’s weird. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always hated contact with people, especially those I didn’t know. At my old church, we used to have a small time before the sermon started where music was playing in the background and people would just go around and shake hands with others, and catch up, I guess. But when I was little, I absolutely hated this time. I used to hide on the floor or in the bathroom to get out of shaking people’s hands. When I got a bit older, I learned to suck it up and to just shake the person’s hand, but I sure did not like it.
Anyway, the point is I’ve always hated contact, but I haven’t always felt so deprived. To me, it’s one of the loneliest feelings in the world. I guess a way to look on the brightside would be that when I actually do get contact with someone I feel comfortable with, I’m practically walking on clouds. Sometimes, my best friend will walk up to me and just lay her head on my shoulder or something and it feels better than she’ll ever know. Even if I don’t know exactly how to respond to it, it’s nice. And I don’t know if I’ll ever end up telling her that. Maybe I should, maybe I shouldn’t. Who knows? And yet, here I am, telling whatever stranger may have stumbled upon this blog (boy would this be awkward if she were to ever read this, wouldn’t it?).
There was also another instance that sticks out to me. I was at school, and I don’t even remember what happened, but I was having a really bad morning. I had been crying on the way in the car, and essentially just having a mental breakdown, only to have to go into school and act like everything was fine. And acting is so exhausting sometimes. Anyways, I was going to the bathroom to finish crying before school started, and one of my friends walked up and asked if I needed a hug. I was caught really off guard, but I said sure, and she did hug me. And guess what? I acted really awkward about it, and I kinda feel bad that I didn’t express more thanks to her. Because what she doesn’t know, is that in that moment, I just barely kept myself from breaking out sobbing again, because someone had actually noticed me, and cared enough to do something. It wasn’t much—just a small act, really. But I think the moral of the story is that, now, I don’t even remember what was causing me so much angst. What I do remember is how my friend cared enough to see if I was alright. She probably doesn’t even remember this. No matter how small and insignificant the act might seem to you, you never know what kind of impact it had on the other person.
So I say, ask a person if they need a hug. They might be better off for it.
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