Do I, though? in Journal

A dear friend took her precious time and resources to speak to me respectfully, firmly, the other day. Which I do appreciate.

One of the things she told me that “we must feel emotions, not intellectualize, which you know you struggle with”

My first thought was … yeah but do I, though?

Maybe I did say something to that effect in the past, but… I more think that I fail to acquire any language for the experiences that I have. And sort of instead of pedantically trying to describe something totally new and off the wall that no one can understand anyway, I relate to something similar that I’ve heard other people say and that probably resonates..

I have heard time and again. You can Only be So Weird. And I think that’s true. You can Only be So Weird without completely shutting out the experience of every human being you have access to and thereby shut off all intimacy. I’m okay with knowing that my experience doesn’t exactly align with what the other person has experienced. I can still feel mutual sympathy for the experience and have that community. But, it does pose a huge problem when people give me feedback. Like this. So I’m left to puzzle through what it is that I meant when I stated the thing, what they meant when they stated the thing, and what the experience actually is, in reality.

I am prone almost automatically to dissociation. Dissociation is about as natural to me as breathing. I can just fuck right off in an instant. Less than an instant. I could stay that way, forever. I have had many- many - out of body experiences, near death experiences, thoughts of just leaving, ahem which seems so taboo to speak of. Why? Why is it so taboo?

It seems to be to stem from a core feeling of; if I can’t just be here without being attacked, then I’ll just fuck off. Thanks but no thanks for this aggressive bullshit.
Why can’t people just be nice? What the hell is so wrong or hard about just being nice?
Idk. But that really does exist inside of me. If you don’t want me here, I can just leave, bro. I won’t impose. I refuse to impose. And I think, a lot of my current pain is that, no one here has any love at all for me; they would obviously rather be brutal and violent and get whatever it is that brutality and violence gives them than to know who I am or just sit there and be in my presence. My mere presence is insufferable to them.
I learned this as a, well, an infant. This was imbued in me, however it was communicated, that no one cared at all about me and would just as soon I not be there, and used violence and brutality to make it that way.

Now, I am aware enough that that is not intellectualizing. It’s just an observation. Perhaps on the opposite end of the spectrum to Dissociation is… idk even fucking know the word for this. Does anyone do this? Has it ever been written about? Why wouldn’t I just use a known word?
Anyway, its not intellectualization. But it is a state of non connection with my ego self- which would be the intellect- but something else. It’s like stuff gets beamed into my mind from somewhere else similar to the light in my recent dream. That was not a dream about some other random world, people. I have the experience of saying, doing, receiving things from somewhere else in this state. Again, it’s not intellectualizing because I’m not either in my ego nor observing the ego.
The experience is thusly; Oh my lord, is it heavenly. Nothing ever hurts. There is nothing quite so amazing as the peace and joy and connection with whatever place or being is beaming into my mind. And the stuff that pours out of me is just… gold. Pure gold. It’s amazing. I can’t wait to hear it! I can’t wait to read it, later, or hear from others what it was.
I started doing that, whatever that is, -channeling?- consciously, in the third grade.
Now, I was obviously in a brutal and violent environment where my speaking would be met with incredible levels of the same. So there were precious few if any outlets to speak in this manner. The only outlet I had was writing. And this state- I guess I will call it channeling- writing became my preferred method for recording these things which were put in my mind.

Yes, I did indeed start writing in the third grade. Stories. Novels. Poems. Scenes. Characters. Whatever. I filled notebooks. Reams and reams of paper, I filled them up. I wrote very small to save space. I developed a liking to certain pens. Still, I haven’t found better ones than the ones I chose in the third grade.
Now I am not saying that I had discipline, or knowledge of character development, or story writing, or any of that stuff. I just put pen to paper. It was my favorite thing to do. I would go anywhere without a notebook and pen.

The more interesting part is what I was writing- usually stuff that just poured out of my soul, or wherever I channeled from. I didn’t know what I would write. I never had plans. Stuff just poured out, and I wouldn’t know what it was until I read it later. Most of it was about me- the little egoic me- and what I was going through. Almost as if I was writing a journal but it was acknowledgement from some cosmic author. And some of it was… stuff I had no clue about. Storylines, people, characters which were new or unthinkable or terrifying.
I had couple experiences in speaking to people in this state, and they were memorably different from writing because I literally didn’t know what I was saying. In these very few instances, the person I was speaking to seemed to be absolutely awe-struck.

This is the method or the state of mind that I referred to as intellectualizing, to my friend. So… I do have a huge reliance on it. An enormous reliance. Perhaps one that defines my entire life and who I am and how I operate in the world. My brain does not direct me. It’s… whatever is up there, creating that beam. It never has occurred to me to question it, until this very moment. And even that question is so fleeting and unfounded. Why would I question who I AM?

I am wondering what behavior would lead one to believe that I am intellectualizing, rather than what my inaccurate confession might have said.