Don't Talk To Me, I'm Introverting

The thing about being human is that you always want someone you can relate to.  The thing about being an introvert is that once you can relate, you never want them around.

Shane Koyczan once said that we all carry heart-shaped jars in our chests, and that we go up to everyone we meet, screaming, “Open this for me!” 
They always say, “Not unless we break it.” 
More often than sometimes, he tells them, “Go for it.”

It’s hard to describe exactly how I feel about stuff.  I could use allegory, draw examples, project metaphors on these pages, but you’d only get a glimmer of what I’m thinking.  Every thought I have is a seed of myself, and it grows into the idea of me.  I try to plant my thoughts into everyone else’s mind, and yet they never grow into what I expect them to be.  I guess I shouldn’t feel so discouraged; afterall, I don’t expect nor want people to be like me.  Not exactly anyway.  I guess it’s true what they say: being an adult is about managing expectations.

People ask me questions to figure out where my fears and anxieties come from; they are trying to rationalize them out.  The problem is that my fears and anxieties are irrational.  They wouldn’t be fears and anxieties if they were, and I’d be lying if I said I never tried to rationalize them too.

When I was writing this, there was a party going on downstairs, and all I could think about was wanting to finish editing my book.  That and trying to express what I’m feeling in that moment.  They say that introverts feel that they express themselves better in writing than in person.  I guess this is true; give an introvert time to think and mull over what they want to say, smoothing every crack and dent, perfect the mirror-like finish of what they are thinking, you’ll see something very thoughtful and insightful.  It makes sense.  I also think it gives an introvert time to fully articulate their emotions and opinions, and it gives the reader the option to do something more worth their time so the introvert doesn’t fear monopolizing someone else’s.

It’s not the fact that we don’t value ourselves and what we say and think and feel; it just that we know some people don’t value stuff as much as we do, and it would be pointless to try to point that out otherwise.  It’s managing our expectation for other people to care as deeply as we do.

People stress me out.  Sometimes stress is a good thing, and there is this ache I sometimes have, a desire to know someone who could relate to me.  Then I realize that I’d probably get stressed out from them just being around.  I don’t know how people don’t feel stressed out by other people (and I don’t mean the day-to-day drama of living, I mean just interacting with people stresses me out).  Sometimes I envy them, just being able to switch everything off and enjoy themselves.  More often than sometimes, I never want to give up what I know and feel.

“But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I spread my dreams beneath your feet,
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.”
~WB Yeats, Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven