There was a time when I could tell you exactly how I was feeling. I had this innate sense of my own emotions. I look back on it now as a sort of superpower. But like any superpower, it came with a built-in vulnerability. If my emotional GPS system was precise, it was also impossible to shut up. For the people closest to me, it must have been insufferable. The usual male twentysomething combination of horny and pissed off would have been easier to handle than the needy, intricate emotional implosions to which I was prone. Journal after journal is full of FEELINGS, and they're all pretty hard to read now. I don’t just mean painful: I mean they read like they’re written in another language altogether.
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