Fifteen Layers Deep

Chapter One

Fifteen.

The thought of the number makes an eerie appearance in my head, large and unable to miss.

After some contemplation, I realize that that's about the amount of years that have passed since the last time that I was genuinely touched. By this point in time, I can't even remember the last person to have gotten the opportunity. Was it my mother? A friend? A stranger passing by on the street?

I don't really know. All I know is that since the time I was eight years old I've been living with this horrific, life altering curse called Haphephobia.

Haphephobia has many other names. It can also be known as aphephobia, haphophobia, hapnophobia, haptephobia, haptophobia, thixophobia, and basically any other combination and order of the letters "h", "a", and "p" ending with a random sound, and then put in front of the word "phobia". But no matter how you say it, in the end it all means the same thing; the irrational fear of touching or being touched. Of course, I also like to define it as "Oh yeah, that mother fucker."

Joking aside, as much as I like to hate on it, I've never let it get me down. Sure it's caused troubles within my relationships, some bullying in school, and even some complications with doing something as simple as walking down a crowded street. But for the most part I've been able to continue living my life pretty well with it I'd say.

Always keeping a positive attitude, and learning to find other ways to connect with people is what I live by. Also to always throw in a bit of sarcasm to keep yourself entertained. One simply just cannot live through their troubles without a good healthy dose of sarcasm.

When I couldn't walk out into a crowded place because of the fear of accidentally bumping into somebody, I just ended up working hard on my reaction time and maneuvering skills to be able to get through even the toughest of crowds without touching a soul. When friends and family complained of not being able to hug or get intimate with me, I made a look alike doll that I could hand to them and have them hug instead. I've found that deep conversation is what brings us closer to one another anyway.

Though, Sometimes, on my bad days, I start to think about what my life would be like without having to obsessively worry about walking through bustling areas, or what being in a romantic relationship would be like, or how much easier not having to explain to an interviewer why I can't shake their hand would be.

I let out a long, hopeless sigh as I lay in bed letting my mind race way too much before even getting up to shower and start the day. The clock shows a bright red "7:30 AM" and I resentfully creep out of bed and head toward the bathroom to get ready for yet another day at my university. As I pass through the hallway from my room to the bathroom door, I take note of the framed picture of my roommate Valeria and her boyfriend Glenn sitting atop the small, wooden desk against the wall. I've passed by this photo so many times without any second thought, but for some reason it's sticking out to me today. There are many other pictures placed on the desk; photos of me and Valeria laughing together, high school graduation pictures, and Valeria's dorky family. So why it is that this one particular photo is standing out to me, I don't know. Without even realizing it, I find myself staring at the photo for a solid minute before noticing what I'm doing.

"Snap out of it," I whisper to myself as I shake my head vigorously back and forth, trying to clear my mind.

Sighing, feeling disheartened, I bring my hand up to my forehead as if it has healing powers. "I don't know what's wrong with me today."