“You’re an extrovert, it shows!” They tell me, face three inches too deep in my bubble. Although I did find a way to wave my arms, mimicking the joy of being in society, I rarely am as happy as at home, alone.
Hi. My name is Christine F. And I’m a conscious introvert…
I grew up hiding behind the legs of tables or adults, gauging strangers, never knowing what to say. Maybe because I’m an only child. Maybe because I stumbled early on some untrustworthy humans. I don’t know. I have always preferred being in the darkness of my wardrobe, reading comics lit by phosphorescent toys.
Obviously, this trait gave me a shitty adolescence. A youth spent with my thumbs in my palms and my backbone in the corners of rooms. A perfect bully magnet.
My parents were worried, wanted me to make friends, go out a little! But, in my neurotic mind, going to a school party meant risking humiliation just like in the movie “Carrie” with the line “They’re all gonna laugh at you!!” looping endlessly. And without the super kinesthetic powers to kill the tyrants.
Later in life, I found a great way to get out of my shell! My magic potion? Gin and tonic! My armor? Whore fashion! Why talk to people, when people come to you! Well, of course, by “people”, I mean “men”. And by “men”, I mean “apes in heat.” My weapon? Projectile bitching! I won’t get hurt if I hurt you first! Zing! Kapow !!
It made for several very sad end of nights, I must say…
Still convinced that I had to change my personality, I threw myself into phobic situations as if it were a cure for shyness. I stifled my anxiety under dirty jokes; shook my carcass like an exuberant; stretched my body with others on blue mats; visited festivals crowded with oxygen suckers; participated in pretentious galas; danced around Ponzi scams disguised as fun ring-dings and spaghetti dinners spiced with irritating decibels.
I even went through two surprise birthday parties where no one noticed that I was going to the bathroom to breathe into my hands, calculating how to run away from there.
The more I pretended extroversion, the more my vital energy was draining. I was starting to hate it when friends invited me for coffee, giving myself gastroenteritis just to cancel. I was chewing so much on my social nerve that the littlest thing got me anxious. My esophagus narrowed just at the idea of returning a call. Some unexpected knocks on my door and I was joining the cat behind the dryer.
So, one day, I snapped. My son had left the house and I had left my spouse. I went back to the dark. I wasn’t seeing anyone. Alone! At last, all alone! I became a recluse one jar of urine short of Howard Hughes.
My circle of companions shrunk, no one inviting me anywhere, since I never came. I could count my friends on the fingers of one hand which had held a lit stick of dynamite.
A loner that suffers from loneliness is laughable and sad.
Today, I am talking to you, standing on a rock, deep in the cave of my blog, to say that introverts can live in a balanced way. Understand that we are woven in a different fiber. That we are not depressed, snob, angry or crazy. We love people. Only, our gentle and quiet life pleases us more than anything.
I finally regained the pleasure of earthly contacts. I just have to choose who and when. And keep it short.
So if you meet me somewhere, gin and tonic at the mouth, come and have a chat! There’s a chance that I won’t stay long…