There are moments when I want to be with people whenever I am alone. And when at last I find myself in the company of others, I instantly wish I was back alone in my own room.
I think I am an introvert.
I think I am an introvert because I can’t find people I want to spend “physical” time with other than my family, my boyfriend, and select old friends who are too busy (and confused; and scared of the future, like me).
I am afraid that most, if not all, of the people living in my city are people too attached with their facebook profiles to be real enough.
I am afraid there is a lack of originality here. Everyone wants to follow what’s trending and popular. It’s sad.
I’m torn between exploring the world and staying close to the people I love. It hurts because I can’t have both. And both cling too close to that something which makes me tick.
I am afraid to say that at this point, other than three or four things, I can identify with all these “features” of a COVERT SCHIZOID under Wikipedia’s SPD page.
I have always hesitated revealing too much of myself in this blog but right now this is something I must do because I don’t know what else to do.
I feel like a little Jenny is buried deep inside me screaming her lungs out, trying to get out but can’t.
And the Jenny body that is writing this now is a smiling accomplished liar–a case housing someone hidden, but not necessarily hiding.
I guess I really “want” (Need? Not sure…) to hang out with people who could get it. But so far, in this strip of land I currently live in, there’s just no one who can. (Yet?)
It’s okay to be alone sometimes, I guess.
Like I have any other choice. Ha ha, funny me.