Being a self-proclaimed introvert who exudes extraverted qualities, this summer has been quite interesting for me. When I am not at work, I am alone in my bedroom, watching Netflix (burning through psych like it is nothing) and reading (four books down since you last heard from me) and writing (a few thousand words of Book 2–trying to make it over a plot hump) and sleeping (naps for days).
It does not bother me one bit.
In fact, I did not even notice that, for three days, I spoke to only two people–and briefly. One day, though, it dawned on me that I was so alone. My group chats were dead and everyone seemed so busy. For me, busy was having my nose in a book and snuggling with my body pillow. It felt weird that I was not having any real human interaction.
Maybe I did not notice because I talked to customers at work. I laughed with my coworkers. I was not being completely reclusive, so it seemed okay that I came home and hid myself away.
I used to do such things on purpose. After school, I itched to get home and lock myself in my room with homework and music. Being around so many people I could not relate to or who hand-fed me to the Darkness was exhausting. Being social was draining. And then on Wednesdays, I had to go back to
hell school for choir rehearsal and put on a smiling and exuberant face, while dancing and singing full out. Maybe I am just perpetually out of shape, but it made me so tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. My go to phrase was: “I’m just tired.”
That phrase has followed me to college, and I am not sure how I feel about that. I am not supposed to be tired. I should be living my life and making friends and sharing memories. Only after I have worn myself out with an adventure should I be “just tired.”
It might scare me that I slipped so easily back into the comfort of solitude.
I mean, I like being alone. It is nice to be able to hear myself think, to read in peace, to relax. People can be exhausting and conversations trivial. That’s not so say everyone bores me–most of the time, it is quite the opposite–but I find serenity in being by myself. I love grocery shopping and going to movies and taking trips to the beach all by my lonesome. Going solo has never been a problem. I get more done and I feel more independent. Independence has always been a big deal for me, since I hope to be almost, if not completely, out from my parents’ wallets and care when I finish college. It is one of the reasons London is such a big deal.
But as I sit alone in my room–as I am doing right now (shocker, I know)–I keep scolding myself for being such an introvert. I am afraid to get too close to people and I would rather not put myself at risk for an anxiety attack. Sounds dramatic, I know, but it’s happened. I wish that I was not so susceptible to letting that fear get to me. I am not afraid of taking risks (most of the time); what I am afraid of is that no one will be there to catch me if I fall, that I will have to be the one to rebuild.
I have spent so much time rebuilding myself into someone I can be proud of, someone that I want the world to see and know. But this whole “hiding away in my room” thing is not helping me burn the bridges from my old self. It is almost like I am piecing them back together. A part of me will always hold onto that self because she is the person who motivated me to change, and I cannot forget that. If I do, it will only be that much easier to let her drag me back down again.
I have fallen back into my groove of isolation, and I am comfortable. It is not easy for me to leave the safety of it. But my promise to you is that I will. I vow to put myself back out there. To laugh and smile and make memories with my friends. That work will not be my loophole to being social. That I will make plans where I am not the only one on the guestlist.
XOXO, Blogger Girl