@og.yogm oh, no, I wasn't taking it as a suggestion. I was just saying my mind in itself feels like entire possibilities of universes of possibilities that I do explore, but of course soaring through space can lead you to some places you'd really rather not go even if there's some cool shyt along the way. I suppose there is value in finding a balance in being attached to both inner and outer sensations.

Evolutionarily speaking, I guess knowing what's going on with your body is good. I don't really feel a lot of things that would alert me something is physically wrong. I generally feel like shyt, yeah (I mean, I have hep and haven't really been in a place physically where I can do tip-top self care), but I've had times I've burned myself without knowing, infected cuts that only hurt if I poured alcohol on them. Hell, I was just IP and when I got meds the nurse asked why my finger was purple (and it was entirely purple, she wanted to get the doc to order xrays in the morning), I could only think either I caught the football wrong or I punched a wall.

So there's a practical purpose to it.

There are probably pleasurable feelings that I could feel/feel more intensely too. Like cuddling cats.
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I don't even know what I should vent about. As things happen I get explosive. I guess there are differences between venting and exploding, but how do you vent when there's nothing to vent about until there is and you feel the need to explode?

I have a lot of intrusive memories on "wrongdoings" (I guess?), but I wouldn't know what to do with them. I've written a bit and shared in therapy, but it's not like getting it out makes me feel any differently. (OK this is turning into a vent I guess haha) I just think I'm weak for letting those things affect me in the way they do. The littlest slights set me off, and then I blaze, and then it's back to dust. I read about emotional buttons yesterday, and that explains why situations like yesterday when I heard someone loudly laughing and I just completely broke down. I couldn't make loud noise like that for much of my early life. I'd wake my 3rd shift working mom up and be told I'd be the reason we become homeless. There was always that threat of "if you say this, they'll take you away," or "if you do this, we'll be living on the streets." That was the daily with my mom. With my dad--not in a space to get there. I don't know how or when I'd ever be able to really feel like purposefully thinking or talking about it would do anything but harm.