Psychobabble?

An unsolved mystery is a thorn in the heart…

A broken promise is a blow to the chest…

A soft whisper is a beginning, a start…

An inquiring question is an adventure.

Things are interpreted as other things, your eyes see what they wish, your tongue tastes what it wants, you hear what you please. I see things no one else sees, everyone little thing that happens is am idea, every paper and pen an opportunity. I hear things no one else hears, the whisper of his breath on her neck a promise, the wind flying through the trees a caress, I feel things no one else feels the soft touch of calloused hands a hope for music to be played, a brush of lips on lips a passionate release. How is it I know, see, hear, feel, taste, and touch all these things; but I don’t know me?

I think that's a rhetorical question ><

I guess my question is can we ever figure out who we are?