I am extremely ticklish. People have used tickling as a weapon against me for my entire life. As a form of what we called “torture” while we were children, my brother would pin me to the ground, hold down my limbs and tickle me. As a precursor, he would chase me around the house with an outstretched finger which signified what was coming. This made me scream like a maniac and I would get in trouble. My father also tickled me; I often found myself squashed under one of his legs watching my brother under the other, while both of us shrieked and squealed from the pain of being compressed by a leg and also from the intensity of the inexplicable, uncontrollable laughter itself. The scariest part of of being tickled was the laughter of such extremity from which I could not breathe. My lungs tightened, not allowing me to breathe in… I sometimes thought I would die on the spot.

I had a recurring dream in which I was attached to a wall, bound with metal bands at my wrists and ankles. My body formed an X-shape, exposing my underarms and feet. An unidentified character tickled me and I was helpless because there was no one around to release me and I could not do a single thing help myself. And whatever was tickling me had no mercy.

I later began to wonder about the origin of this dream. Was it because I hated the feeling of being tickled so immensely, or was it because I was afraid of feeling defenseless? Each time I had been seriously tickled, I had been in helpless situations. The tickling monster in my dreams may not have been so evil to me because of what it made me feel on the outside, but by its mercilessness and the way it affected my inner self.