The Secret Thoughts of an Introvert

It Ruined Me

Tuesday, January 3rd, 2023

We are in the new year, and I had a massage. I had one planned for the middle of the month, but when my boss offered for me to receive one for free as training for a new employee, naturally I took up the offer. I agreed assuming the massage therapist would be a woman, as all our other ones were. I was Entirely wrong.

His touch wasn't as firm or hard as I am accustomed to, and the reality of my discomfort at his gentleness shook me to my core. Also, realizing that I initially struggled to feel safe with him touching me at all, was alarming, and a reason to regularly book. He was a black man. Big, tall, and for all I can tell at our first meeting, kind. Somewhat nervous and reserved. Which is completely understandable for a black man of his size in a field such as massage therapy. One wrong move and someone will cry wolf. Pins and needles. Eggshells and balance beams. Reminding myself that he, much like I, is subject to excess scrutiny, and no room for misunderstanding, helped me to shift my mind from hypervigilant, to safely reserved, but open to experience. After all, this man had done absolutely nothing to me beyond shake my hand and give me his name.

 And so I went into my mind. My scrambled mind, to find out what the hell was the matter with me? Why at the sight of him, did my blood run cold? I could say with 100% confidence that I had never met him before. Was this my intuition? Was there danger lurking behind the kindness of his eye? Was I finally attuned enough with my body to be able to tell when wrong was present?

 When I had first received the email appointment, and seen a man's name. I felt a sense of fear, nervousness, and anxiety. The type of curling in the stomach that is followed with a projectile. While my response right in front of him was not nearly as disturbing, I was acutely aware of the struggle going on internally. I sought myself out as I lay on the table, waiting for that first touch, and found the horrifying reality. The last men to touch me, who were not family, or extremely close friends, did harm. One, a black man, sexually assaulted me, and repeatedly tried to force himself into me without protection, against my will. Just writing these words, acknowledging that experience, makes my whole body woozy. I have fought myself long and hard to treat that as a bad dream, an alternate reality that I have no access to. But the trauma still lies in wait in my body.. The other proclaimed the desire to rape me, when I forced him to take me home. He had been a friend. someone I had trusted greatly. It wasn't until his eyes had lowered and tongue was loosed, did I find out there was that evil lurking in him, waiting for me. Crazy what truths slither their way out when your inhibitions are lowered.

 So here I lay, naked on a table, with a sheet and a blanket covering me, waiting for the touch of a strange man, that I met 11 minutes ago, and effectively gave permission to rub my body from head to toe. No wonder every inch of me screamed out in fear. His first few strokes down my back were slow. Painfully slow. Nerve-wracking slow. Why are you touching me like that? It's invasive. It feels as if you are studying my body. Learning it in ways I am not ready to be known. I did NOT consent to you feeling every space where I hold my pains, my truths, my sufferings. Even though I literally did.

 I spoke calming words to myself. Telling myself, this is a safe man. We are safe. I didn't know if this was the truth. But this was the truth I was choosing. I reminded myself that my manager was here, and focused harder on her voice. Asking him questions about the schedule he submitted to, and he continued to drag his heavy hands ever so slowly down my body. When she went silent I focused on my breath, willing my mind away from the incessant knowledge that this man was touching me. Those same slow strokes, that never seemed to have enough pressure. It felt purposeless. Why are you just rubbing me down. Each stroke should bring some type of painful release. Where is the pain I am accustomed to? The pain that comes with being touched. I need the pain. If there is no pain, it is useless touch.