Use Me Like A Drug

Respect Beyond Measure

Taehyun had trouble sleeping. His eyes just wouldn't remain closed and his brain wouldn't remain silent. His constant tiredness was a major part of his childhood. He could remember it vividly. His eyes shutting tightly, no energy to open them, yet his brain ran full speed, never stopping, pulsing slightly with a familiar pain.

  Another thing he remembered was that he hated being touched. He despised it. Ever since he was a kid, for no reason in particular, he would flinch away from hugs. Anytime someone attempted to caress his arm, even in the slightest, his arms would jump up in defence. This was an issue with his mother. His mother was centred around hugs and physical affection.

  Every time she forced him into a hug, he felt his skin crawling and a sense of internal dread as he shivered. She would squeeze him tight and his breath would speed up. He was unable to train himself to like it. He didn't even like brushing shoulders with strangers. Personal space was a must for him. Not for his mother.

  That is where the rift began. It took 11 years for Taehyun to be fully ostracized from his own home and for him, that was a long and painful 11 years, slowly watching his family drift away from him.

  The phrasing Taehyun used when he talked about his situation was not always accurate and sometimes that was for the ease of explaining things when he did not wish to talk about them.

  The night wasn't cold, but it wasn't warm either. It nipped at the skin, slowly causing goosebumps to prick up from the skin. If Taehyun had known this, maybe he would've grabbed a coat before he stormed out.

  The argument wasn't small. His ears were ringing after he slammed the door. He hadn't changed out of his school uniform yet and he still carried his backpack. He'd come back late after studying. He can't remember exactly how the argument started, though that seemed to be something he would want to remember. From what detail he could remember, it had something to do with his refusal of his mother's "welcome back" hug. She came to him with arms wide open and he simply ducked under them as he always did. His father jumped to his mother's aid, telling him he should be nicer.

  For a moment he was hurt. These were his parents. Shouldn't they understand? Shouldn't they ask about why he doesn't like to be touched? Shouldn't they know about how his skin crawls and burns and how it itches so uncomfortably that it nearly physically pains him to brush against someone else's hand in the hallways? Shouldn't they respect his hatred for physical contact? Shouldn't they ask about how he feels trapped and unable to escape? How he feels vulnerable? How it feels like insects crawl up and down his arms?

  He attempted to escape to his room so he could be alone to think things out, but his mother wrapped a hand around his wrist, and in inexplicable panic,  that should not plague a child when their mother grabs them, coursed through his veins as he yanked his wrist from his mother's hand, twisting and turning in every which way in attempt to escape the hold. He no longer had any sense of rational thought as he twisted his mother's wrist along with his. She yelped out as he twisted the wrong way, and then she let him go and he found himself pushed against the wall with the force that he previously pulled with. He grasped his own wrist trying to ease the discomfort and pain. He felt sick.

  He didn't know why he had such a hatred for physical contact. He didn't like being touched and that's all he knew. There was something about it that just made his brain scream with pure panic. He hated it even more when he didn't know it was coming. He just couldn't stress it enough. He didn't know why, he just didn't like it. That's something a parent should respect, right? Apparently not.

  His mother clutched her own wrist, staring in horror at the child who acted in such pure fear that he would go to such extremes. His father yelled at him, his voice piercing his eardrums. Taehyun couldn't take it any longer. He opened the door and ran out, unsure of where to go. All he knew was that he didn't like the situation he was in and if he did not get out soon, he would start to cry and panic and that was no good. He wandered the streets all night and he wasn't sure where to go. The answer was not to go home.