I Hate People: confessions of a lazy introvert

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 15, 2018

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Submitted: May 15, 2018

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Entry #1: creating my own quiet

 

Why do you hate yourself?

Don’t be too hard on yourself, you’ll get better.

You’re young and shy, you’ll grow out of it.

 

These are only a few examples of the ways people respond when I declare to them who I am, how I identify. I’m a lazy introvert.

I am an English major in college, and while I write excellent papers filled with insightful splashes of intrigue it takes me the entire grace period before a deadline to rush and scramble the pages together. I used to see this as an odd form of self-punishment, that I can only finish a task while under extreme pressure (and a tad bit of exhaustion) however, I had a bad habit of misdiagnosing my own personality. I came to realize that I value my free time, my Me Time, I called it. In which, the time I refer to isn’t really free at all, because I am constantly in a state of active exhaustion and consider my mind a wonderful yet terrifying prison of teeming thoughts that yearn to be expressed. I am a pathological seeker of spiritual oneness, an ardent sapiophile who makes love with knowledge, and an addict whose most coveted drug of choice is words. I’m a promiscuous woman who gyrates her knowledge in hopes of contracting a fact or two. More importantly, I am a lazy introvert. When there’s a whole bunch of noise, I create my own quiet, so I can recharge, rethink, and remind myself of who I am. I put on headphones and play slow jazz or blare trap music repetitively until it fades into the background of my mind to become loud silence so that I can write. I value my writings, as they are my offspring birthed from the recesses in my mind that fill me with irrevocable love and worth. They become my emotional vomit and probation officer because I can healthily purge my deepest feelings yet restrain myself from hurting others in the process. I thought I had an intimacy problem, but I merely hated expending unnecessary energy into painting. The paint I refer to is the façade that others see on my face upon our first meeting, it’s too much work. I am lazy in this sense, because I hate doing work to prove myself likeable or unlikeable to the person standing before me with their own can of paint. Being lazy and introverted is no phase I can outgrow, nor a condition from which I can heal. More importantly, it is not an admission of self-loathing, because it’s love in its rawest form. I am an infrequent liar, but admit to being human, too. I refute perfection and any other societal pill others wish me to swallow. I am Laura: an unapologetic, lazy, introvert.


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