Today's session, we talked about touch in therapy.

It went ok, but I am a mess.

I don't have enough emotional energy left to explain everything, but basically, he said that hugs are OK - but no extended physical contact beyond 5-10 seconds.

We shook hands at the end for the first time; I wasn't ready to hug.

I did tell him I was not attracted to him; he did say, though, that while -- as he's said before -- he does not have sexual thoughts about me (the red line he will not cross), that he does have some physical attraction to adult me (or maybe it's best to say - he sees me as physically attractive) and, therefore, has to be careful about physical contact to ensure it never nears that red line.

I cried. I cried because ...because everything. Because everything hurts. I'm glad I can have a hug, but it's not enough - I haven't said it that plainly to him, but I can say that here. It's not enough.

This is the last email I sent him - I had told him I was overwhelmed by grief - he asked if I was grieving losing S (because I had extended physical contact with S that left me feeling safe in a way I'm pretty sure I'll never experience again).

Here's what I said; TW for some sexual 'themes' ish...nothing graphic.

No.
Grief about ... I'm not even sure what.
Grief because I feel untouchable. Dangerous to touch. Like people have to be so careful about touching me, because...because why? I feel dirty.
Grief because I'll never be able to just be small and be held and feel safe and not have to worry about things like...sex or physical appearance. My sexual history. Sexual anything.
Grief because I am not likely to feel that safe feeling I momentarily had ever again..and I had it so so briefly..and I desperately want it again.
Grief because you can't be my real dad, and I can't really be a child again, and that I waited and waited and waited for it to be safe, for it to be my turn, for me to finally be good enough - thin enough, smart enough, strong enough to be able to stop being afraid to cry or to make a mistake and to be held and protected and taken care of and loved only to look in the mirror and be in my 30s and have missed my turn. To never ever get to have it. Not in the way that I so desperately want it. I want it from the core of my being, and it hurts from the core too.
Grief because I did things I'm ashamed of trying to find it. And I can't take that back, I can't undo it, and it makes me feel dirty and bad. And it feels like everything in the world is sexual now. Like that's what I'm reduced to at times. Nothing but...idk...I could use crude language. I better not.
Grief because I'm tired, and I feel like I will never stop being tired. And also because I'm not entirely sure I can stop looking for safety - yes, external safety - because I'm tired of taking care of myself. And then shame, because I'm an adult, and I am my own responsibility, and taking care of myself - by myself or as much by myself as I can manage - has been the goal for as long as I can remember.
I'm tired. And I hurt. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if it's too much. It doesn't make a difference. I have to do it anyways. I have to function and be an adult and take care of everything anyways.

To top it all off...and I haven't told him this...it looks like I might have ringworm.
So, of course, tonight, the night we touch for the first time, I find that I might LITERALLY be dangerous to touch.
I just can't.
I can't breathe.
I can't believe I'm still existing right now, because existing feels like an impossible feat.
I don't want to be. I don't want to BE.