I’m bad at signaling when I like someone. I don’t mean to come off as unfriendly. I’m really just extremely shy. 

I really like avoiding personal problems until they bite me in the face, yeah?

That moment when someone points out something that I walk by every day, but I swear I’ve never seen it before…

If you force me to open my mouth prematurely, I’m going to sound like an idiot almost every time. I’m looking at you, teachers. 

I’m so introverted and introspective that interaction with the outside world has always been tedious and terrifying. I fought to become better acclimated to societal interaction. It wasn’t easy, but I’m pretty good at it now. I have exactly as many friends as I want, and I am capable of functioning like an adult. A lot of people don’t even know that I’m an introvert, but the girl who was afraid to call to order a pizza and petrified of asking for help in the grocery store will always be inside of me somewhere. I can fool other people and even myself, but on some level, I’ll always struggle with this.

During the rare times I’m pushed to tears, I cry about the most random things. I’d rather cry about anything other than what’s really bothering me, that is, if I even know what’s really bothering me. I’m so oblivious about my own feelings.

I can’t focus unless there’s a metaphorical knife pressed to my throat that has just pricked my skin and caused blood to start trickling down my chest. Otherwise, it can wait until tomorrow. 

what even is calm at this point i’m constantly on edge hahaha

a conversation between an intp & an infj

i think you know which is which

“Great!”

“Fine.”

“I’m good.”

“I’m alright”

“All good.”

“Not bad.”

You don’t actually give a shit anyways. 

I learnt overtime that I realize my own predictions. Repeat the same process and hope that things will miraculously turn right. I live with this consciousness of stupidity, taught myself to be void of emotions so I will never get hurt. In return it’s a sense of emptiness that consumes every other aspect of self.

This talk of all or nothing, no return is for if I do come back with less of myself, I can think about not losing the whole. I do not deserve to think that I have problems and issues because they are relative terms. How do you fight both sides of a war and still lose? (A reader brought up this statement awhile ago. I am afraid I don’t have an answer, or maybe I am too coward to commit to one)

I am not sure when I started preferring cowardice over failure, emptiness over turbulence, pity over aggression. I don’t plan on fixing them and I don’t want to be fixed. This stubbornness chases my consciousness around. By now I’ve written myself into contradiction so I will just leave it at this.

I do not believe I will ever have the courage to admit that my hostility comes from vulnerability, at least not for awhile. It hurts me that my vulnerability hurts others. It hurts me to know that my weakness is a weapon. I said I don’t feel sympathy. I don’t. Not for you. Maybe, I don’t know. When you trip over me, I penalize myself for my clumsiness to the point I completely forgot you were lying there in pain. I walk away without a bruise, head filled to the brim with replays of my inability. Except I didn’t trip you over, except you weren’t lying there in pain, it was, something else, and much worst. 

I opened up my eyes so quickly I felt a jolt in my body. I was panting. I closed my eyelids again, trying to grasp the dream that was slipping away. 

The rest of the day I spent reminiscing the silhouettes and impressions that were left behind. I was dreaming with my eyes open. I imagined the silhouette re-enacting the scene, although this time it was slightly different. It was a bit more satisfying as I choreograph these imageries at will. It was, sitting there across me. It was, standing there beside me. It was, reciting the words I carefully composed. My heart was racing. I find myself gazing at objects. Ordinary objects I cannot recognize for my mind was occupied. How could you not see when you eyes are open? I was seeing colours but I was blind. I was hearing words but I was deaf. Sensations bottlenecked at the tip of my spine. 

Just as my mind was choreographing the hauntingly beautiful scenarios, my logic started to tear it apart. I was breathless from this longing for perfection and clarity of reality. I realize I cannot stay up 24 hours a day, I realize I cannot live without air, I realize that expectations are co-related to frustrations. 

I dismissed these imageries and put on this armour of objectivity that protects me from disappointment. When good things do finally happen, it will be, an arranged surprise. 

I was waiting for the bus. Here in my city, a bus stop can serve many different bus routes. By waving your arm in the air, you signal the driver to let you board. It was winter, having previously lived in a cold city, I was wearing far less then the passer-bys and they seemed to have noticed the oddity as well. As usual my mind was occupied and this was easily dismissed. In my hand was a piece of paper, I was holding it so I would not forget the purpose of my trip. I thought about the outcome, and how the day would end. In what felt like a blink of an eye, I saw a flash, like a cut scene in a movie. I was running, waving my arms frantically at the driver. Through the dusty window his eyes caught mine, he wrinkled his nose and paused his lips, the bus came to a stop on a downhill slope. “I’m sorry, I was thinking and got distracted.” I wish I have his reflex as almost immediately he bickered, “What the hell were you thinking? Dates?” It was valentines day. I sat down without a word and compose insults in my mind all while feeling guilty. The piece of paper was tucked in my sketchbook along with the other medical documents. I never gather enough courage to deliver my witty comment to the bus driver.

When day becomes night and night becomes day. I told myself, I will go to bed after this and the infinite hyperlinking transcends time. When finally I succumb to droopy lids, set aside my reading materials (whether it’s a laptop or a book) on the empty side of my double bed and lie down. Sometimes I close my lids and all I see are statics from my brain neurons firing. I thought about what I read, and the day and people’s faces. Did I come off too strong? I should have said something. Why is it like this? Suddenly I thought of a word I didn’t understand but was too lazy to look up earlier. I got up and search the dictionary or wikipedia. By the time I enter my blanket I realize that satisfaction only last as long as another alien thought comes up. I left it to dreaming and wake up feeling a bit haunted from all the weird combination imageries. That, would be the better nights. Other times, I enter my blanket only to realize my alarm is about to go off in an hour. I sat on the couch and enter a lucid dream phase where I find myself either tidying room half consciously or staring into the back of my eyelids. Alarm sound is harsh. Some cheap instant coffee and it begins the cycle of another sleepy day. 

We were having fried chicken, burger and fries at a very nice diner. (at least to me it is, some may say it’s old-fashioned) I had been grumpy all day. You thought this stubbornness had gone on for way too long so you asked. I started turning the silver knife in my hand, trying to focus on an answer. A few seconds later I realized my mind was blank and all I was doing was following the light reflected from the knife. “You’ve already done it. I am just gonna comply,” I said. Knowing very well that wasn’t the right answer. “Why would you think I planned this?” You looked into my eyes as if you were trying to enter a dark cave. I replied saying I don’t know, dodging your gaze. “When you first asked I said no. It wasn’t a yes or no question as you say. You were looking for an opinion.” Fragments of past conversations flew past me, I caught the piece that says ‘opinion’. “I was. We needed some references.” You said. My twirling of the knife turned into repeated notes of knife hitting plate. "But the outcome is a yes. It doesn’t matter whether it was a yes to begin with or after. It isn’t a no and nothing I said mattered.“ Your next reply went on a tangent. I only remembered the last sentence. "It wasn’t planned.” I couldn’t hide my frown. “It wasn’t that. I told you I would deal with it now that it’s done.” The crisp sound of china plate is now blunt and impatient. “Why did you think it was planned?” You asked again. I shook my head, everything is turning blurry. I stood up and said I needed to use the washroom. I walked across the restaurant quickly only to realize that the washroom was on the other side of the room. 

You sat in front of me, staring, waiting for an answer. I glanced at my laptop, hoping the music will miraculously turn up louder and drown this pin drop silence. I now hate myself for turning down the music in the first place to show the person respect. Millions of memory fragments brushed past me. I thought about the food on the table, the clothes that I am wearing, your words and the emotions….. “I won’t exist if it wasn’t for you,” I said. I saw a vein on your forehead flinched. "Shit,“ I thought. You leaned back your chair and said, "Is that it? Because if that’s it it’s very scary.” My ability to summarize reasons of love isn’t very sensual. My existence to me is all that I have left. I reason in my head that I exist because you fill me up. But you only see an empty shell, with you on the outside. You asked me if I will one day just disappear. I didn’t even think that was something I can get enough courage to do until you mention it. “No, I won’t” I said, realizing now I’ve made a life-time promise. I looked at you, so solid and so real. I am now overwhelmed to the point that anything you say becomes a ringing noise. I imagine in my head, a trash can, and I simulate dumping things into it. The ringing quiets down, and you have stopped talking as well. You looked at me as if I have just made a weird facial expression. Maybe I did, I will never know and I don’t want to know.

I don’t think I am lost really. I spent way too much time creating and replaying scenarios in my head it overloads me as I become mindful of my obsessiveness. I managed to set these feelings aside and walk out calmly, decided that I will go with the flow and that I will be happy with the small moments that happens ahead of me, instead of feeling unfulfilled of my carefully constructed ideas. You came along and question how much time I have put into my future plans. It bothers you that I did not give you a reason and that I am “without a plan”. I got annoyed and felt slightly offended. You ask me why I am acting repulsive. I said, “I don’t know.” Because last time I try to explain I was greeted by another swarm of questions. It’s not that I don’t want to recite my plan. Trust me, if I can print out my head and let you read it as a book I will. I ran out of energy to speak, to translate it into layman’s term. And frankly, we don’t have the time. I know so well before I even finish my story, you will be attacking every vocabulary I use when I don’t even believe in exact definitions in the first place. (These vocabulary doesn’t even come close to the painting in my head but in order to explain I have to find a word for it) Maybe I am just tired. Like a traveller who needs a break from his scheduled flight. If it makes you feel better thinking that I am lost then so be it. Or maybe I am lost, but I am quite happy about that and your concern becomes another package I have to carry. I am selfish. Your glorified way of telling me you were hurt does not result in the sympathy you deserve. That pains me. Things goes in cycle. Do you see why I want to wander out this madness? I am, immature, selfish and reckless. I am, lost, clueless and spontaneous as you call it. Lost in my own constructed world of patterns and truths. I have again come to contradict the very first sentence of my article. As I know there’s no good way for me to end this article. I shall leave it abrupt like this.

Do other INFJ’s have trouble communicating their thoughts and feelings?

Yes.

INFJ have trouble communicating their thoughts and feelings.

It is one of the banes of an INFJ’s existence.

Romantically, we won’t articulate how we feel about someone until we are 1000% sure they feel the same way or that they have told us first.

Sometimes we feel that when a person knows us well, they should always know what they mean, that isn’t always true. If we don’t say anything, they won’t know.

We let people take advantage of us and sacrifice our boundaries when we love and care for someone until we stand up for ourselves.

We use music to speak for us.

We write better than we speak, so if you want to know how we truly feel, ask us to write you a letter.

Music can say things that we can’t find the words to say.

Many of us do not like rejection, especially in dating, so we sit on the sidelines more often than not unless we know the person is interested.

We let things that bother us slide when we care for you

Many people don’t value our opinion, and if we discover it, we find other ways to show others that we have a lot to bring to the table

An INFJ has to trust you to be comfortable and vulnerable

Our body language and facial expressions can say more than our words may ever.

Be patient and help INFJ’s be comfortable around you if you want to know and understand who they are at their core, loving individuals.

We are just so afraid of prior hurts occurring again that we become guarded