Haphephobia.

It started when I was young, four maybe. My life at home wasn't always so perfect, even now it's not. My mom had issues, she still does, and so did her partners. One minute I was what kept her alive, the next I was everything wrong with her life. She couldn't be happy while I was around. As I got older it got worse. I could take more hits, grew more resilient. I let it effect my school life. They could tell. They didn't care. They hated me even more than she did.

Too this day I am still not sure of the exact moment it happened, when even the slightest movement towards me filled my body with terror. Even the slightest nudge. I tried getting over it, forcing myself to hug family and friends, be normal. It made me sick, made me cry. It still does.

It scares me. That I will never get over it, that I'll never be normal, that I can never be close to someone because the mere thought of them touching me terrifies me. I can't stand it.