To a lot of people, I am some sort of freak.
I feel sound. Sometimes I taste it, but mostly feel it. I hear it as well, but my senses are both crossed and parallel. I have no idea why my senses are like this, but it might be a result of childhood epilepsy. Auditory-tactile synesthesia.
Music can be physical ecstasy or intense pain. I have near perfect pitch because it hurts me when a note is out of tune. That is why I would rather be in the band than listen to it most of the time. Trumpets and piccolos stab at my nerves. Marimbas are as close as I can get to a massage without being touched.
I have a hard time with names and words. I won't go into names because the names I loathe are often the ones others love. Some words are horrendous, like cheese graters being raked along my face. Many are a slap, a punch, or just a creeping feeling along my spine. I avoid many words in my speech, and they are fine when written, but hearing them spoken is a different manner. I have to deal with it and ignore it, but if I pay attention at all, the feeling is still there. I am still having sand paper rubbed over my hands and needles shoved into my jaw. I taste what drain cleaner smells like, taste astringent, chemical, disgusting.
These are some of the words I hate. The meanings are irrelevant. Maybe I hate them, maybe they hate me. Perhaps it is mutual loathing. My love for the written language does not extend to verbalization, and I find it occasionally distressing.
purse, ma'am, panties, slacks, spew, reticulate, regurgitate, plethora, placid, flaccid, squid, squire, square, squander, squawk, smack, fidget, swab, hubby, pew, caulk, junior, scrumptious, squabble, sixth, bifurcate, slap, appetite, spray, colloid, spleen, flake, flub, perpetuate, squabble
Synesthesia can be entertaining and isn't always unpleasant. On the opposite side of the spectrum, I have lovely words like miasma, solace, crystalline, gravity, adiabatic, attrition, cinder, beryllium, electric, sonnet, and stellar. Those trigger more favorable tactile responses. Silky strokes and soft, cottony dabs. Minuscule massages along my temples. Sometimes I'll taste something sweet, not overly, just a small grain of sugar on my tongue or a hint of maple.
Sigh... This is why we are going to have such a hard time naming our next child.