When I was growing up my parents always asked me what I thought, not what I felt. I've only recently been able to being a sentence with "I feel like..." without thinking I was saying a dirty word. For awhile that was actually a funny passive-aggressive thing with my shrink. She's say, "How do you feel about that?" and I'd respond with "Well, I think that...."
I'm not a fan of emotions. They are both overwhelming and unpleasant. Even the good ones, to be honest. Happy memories just stir up fears for the future. And when there's so much going on inside me, so much percolating and bubbling, worries and hopes and the desperate attempts to crush that hope, excitement and trepidation and is-he-going-to-calls take up a lot of space inside.
I compensate by eating less. Makes sense, doesn't it? I'm already full. Not of food, but of other stuff. If I compound that other stuff with food, I'd explode.