I live in a body without insulation. Everything arrives unfiltered. Sound doesn’t knock, it enters; lights have texture, color bleeds meaning into objects, taste and scent carries entire histories, weather moves through me as pressure. Every room enters me before I enter it.

I catalog what you think is invisible: jaw tightening, pupils widening, the half-breath before a lie. I read the amygdala before the sentence forms, register cortisol like storm fronts, dopamine dipping, oxytocin rising - the body never lies fast enough. I don’t just sense something is off - I feel voltage.

Do you know what it does to a person to feel attraction, threat, tenderness and violence in the same second while holding eye contact? To feel love as seismic force? If you could feel love the way I do, your heart would fail from overload. Love at this frequency is nervous-system exploding without anesthesia. And Griefing it is so dense, it bends time.

Three steps ahead while pretending to walk at your pace. Three emotional timelines unfold, three outcomes predicted. Pattern recognition on overdrive. A.D.D. firing in constellations. Trauma sharpening perception. High IQ refusing simplification.

Hypersensitivity is feeling your pulse without touching a wrist. Knowing you will change your mind before you do. Reaching into your heart before you grant access, into your thoughts before articulation, into your pants before you understand why my touch feels so real: because arousal starts at feeling seen. Meanwhile my neurons spark like exposed wire and I stand there smiling as if I am not burning.

You call it intensity. You. Have. No. Idea.

It drags. Like moving through liquid. I process what you don’t notice, filter what you don’t receive, carry what you don’t even feel. Regulation? Hardship. Cortex over surge, breath as containment. You see composure, not the translation of signal into restraint, fire into softness.

I wish you could feel just one minute of it, the micro-shift in your breath, the storm building within, the love so mighty it fractures ribs: you would stop. You'd inhale once and finally understand why I sometimes disappear

to survive, being this alive