This should go into "The most private thing I'm willing to admit here" section, but what the hell. I've always wanted a padded room, or a room with one of those 1970's conversation pits or one of those beds they had in the replica of the dutch home they had in my hometown. Where it's a hole in the wall, with a mattress, a blanked and some pillows, and nothing else. By this time I'm sure they've added thsoe fancy flat tvs and mirrors to the ceiling. Beside the point. Do I have a subconscious desire to climb back into the womb? I don't think so, but I do miss my mum quite a bit. But this desire goes back as far as I can remember. I'm pretty sure I'm not crazy, so the prospect of being locked up on the third floor in one of the special rooms is remote, and therefore not scary. The friendly looking mental ward like in "50 first dates" and flicks about nice alzeimers wards, are pretty appealling, and I don't think I'd mind them so much if I was sure I wasn't going to get hooked on/force fed any prescriptions that would make me drool or spread fecal matter all over myself. But that doesn't have much to do with my desire for a padded room.Maybe because at home my ass ignores the furniture and sits on the floor. The corners of furniture are used to rest my back against, and floor cushions are used to elevate my feet off the floor at an awkward angle. I'm a person who appreciates creature comforts, why do I do this to myself?AND from here I want to move to a one room house that willhave no room for padding. Hell, it'll hardly have room for a bed.
Somedays running into the wall a full speed (not very fast in reality) appeals to me. As does throwing sharp or breakable objects. I think it's because I don't do these things I don't get labeled as crazy. I think these are the same urges that athletes have, they just use them to exercise.