I have a few friends really into the Enneagram right now. And so I have been reading up on it.
I am a 5. 5 with a 4 wing.
It fits me. It feels apt.
All of the cute pinterest and instagram illustrations about 5s do seem to get my number pretty well. I find it funny that they all describe 5s in different ways, but all go out of their way to make the point that we like to be alone.
One of my friends who is into this stuff read somewhere that the best way to show a 5 you love him is to leave him alone.
Which seems cold, but I'll be god damned if it isn't true.
My mom loves to tell me—is always telling me—that when I was a baby, all I wanted was to be left alone on the floor or in my crib. Lay me down and I would sing myself to sleep. Pick me up and I'd get all fussy and irritated.
I apparently hurt my grandma's feelings a lot by this. Which, you know, is shitty being that I was an infant and all. I didn't know well enough to be polite.
Though I had less of an excuse when I refused to hug her as a teenager, it's still not exactly my fault.
I just don't like being touched. I like being left alone. What else can I say?
I think about this sometimes when I hear people talk about "Highly Sensitive People" which sometimes sounds like pseudo-scientific bullshit to me, but still seems intimately descriptive.
I like the idea that a certain amount of the population are born with a larger vagus nerve or an overdeveloped nervous system or something.
That things like being touched, or strong smells, or loud noises and bright colors can just be too much. That we can't process all of it, we feel too much of it, so we retreat into quiet and solitude so that we can deal.
Such an explanation makes sense for me. Being a weird unhealthy preemie baby with all sorts of weird stuff happening.
It makes sense why baby me would become distressed by perfumed jewelried hands touching me all the time.
Or maybe I am just an asshole. I don't know.
But I will say throughout my entire life the most common complaint against me, whether from friends, family, or lovers, is that I don't "spend enough time" with them.
And here I am, always hoping that if the lovers really loved me they'd understand me for who I am.
But no, instead there's fights and hurt feelings and my eventual departure back to my dark room where I am convinced that I am too messed up and broken to really truly be with someone. Too messed up to even want such a thing.
Because I feel that everyone, anyone, wants too much of me, I decide to give them nothing. Fuck you for wanting to be in my life.
It's mine.
You can't have it.
Which, I hear, is another virtue of the Enneagram 5.
We are miserly with our time and emotions.
We feel we will be depleted.
We must preserve ourselves.
I build moats. I wear black. I do not call you back.
Maybe I just lost myself so often in my younger years that I am now a zealous protector of my time and identity.
Abandoned myself to Jesus
Then did the same for girlfriend after girlfriend.
Less of me, more of you.
All that shit.
There's the ole' "when-they-really-get-to-know-you-they'll-run-for-the-hills" types of feelings too, I suppose.
Solitude means never having to be judged or criticized or forced to compromise and sacrifice.
It means never having your thoughts interrupted or having to deal with people being bored by your greatest passion and favorite band.
I am thinking of all these things a lot lately.
In part because I am dying to no longer have roommates. Nothing against them. I just want to be alone.
I am sincerely thinking of getting one of those unibomber type cabins in the woods somewhere.
Except it would be bongs over bombs, bro. Yeah, high five.
I have this strong desire to be alone.
While at the same time am so deeply fucking lonely.
I guess I'm like O-Town,
I want it all or nothing at all.
Normal conversation and the day to day of surface level interactions do nothing for me.
At least aloneness is authentic.
I keep imagining some mystical person that will understand who I am and why I need the weird things I need and will just be kind and giving and allow me to have it.
Someone who I would understand and cherish and love in whatever way best suited them.
Why is that so hard?
Why can't that sort of thing exist?
Maybe I'll get back on Tinder.
If nothing else, I can find a stranger with whom to exchange naked words and pictures.
9:25 p.m. - 2020-08-03
Recent entries:
a book of a thousand chapters starts with a single word - 2020-11-08
Bitter - 2020-10-16
Day to Day - 2020-10-13
168 - 2020-08-08
Feelings - 2020-08-06
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
warpednormal
similar
jim515
swordfern
poetinthesky
darkly-blue
loveherwell
holdensolo
lust-
bantenhut
i-am-jack
musicman575
comebacktome
aryssa90
i-lost-sarah
newschick
hexes
gonzoprophet
stardumb
cybers1ut
meffinmisfit
movingsands
the-grey-one
dangerspouse
unowhatilike
silverluna
elusive-you
tobehis
kenny-loo
brothasistas
my-rant
is-life
godsintimate
creme-egg
ruby--sky
reevo
dooki
dagkyo
buddyboy5
obijuan
u2october
nudeplatypus
baby--girl
mojo1915
krunkjazz
alwaysinhim
cindylou03
gr8legs
greenstar7
spittingame
dudemanflab