In which our hero talks about the difference between being kinda quiet and shy, and isolating from mental illness.
Most of you know I’m quiet. Some of you know I’m quite shy. Very few of you know how dreadfully introverted I actually am.
I recently learned a thing about my introverted personality. It’s not that I don’t need or want connection. It’s that my battery charges very quickly, with low voltage needed, and only one compatible cable. All my social needs are met by one person. Then I’m maxed out. More input overcharges my battery and causes it undue stress. Eventually, it won’t hold a charge or it’ll blow up.
Extroverts have their social needs met by interaction with many people. They get recharged by interacting with coworkers, family, friends, strangers in coffee shops. The more people they interact with, the more their battery charges.
All my social needs are met by one person and any more is draining, including my own children. I love my sons more than I can explain, but being with them is exhausting. For me, interacting with any human other than my wife is tiring. Every conversation drains my battery Parties? Come over and watch sports? Fuck right off. It’s not worth the effort.
I used to wear masks to hide my introversion. As a soldier or corrections officer that mask was a uniform and a role. Alcohol was a great way to hide. Overinflated self-esteem and lowered inhibitions in a bottle? Sign me up! Another mask I had was a cartoonishly over-the-top hypermasculinity. Flirting outrageously with every female I met and snarling at every male. All an act to keep everyone away.
I can’t say how much is trauma and how much is just personality. I’ve always been a loner, but how much of that is from moving constantly? How much is due to a rage-filled father and depressed mother? Can’t tell ya. How much is deep-seated insecurity and how much is just personality? No idea. I can say trauma fed introversion and vice versa. I made a lot of mistakes trying to overcome PTSD-induced social anxiety and hypervigilance by forcing myself into social settings that made everything worse because I didn’t understand I’m just extremely reserved. (Some folks live in cities, I live in my head.)
It’s really only been the past few months, when I’ve managed to mostly lick hypervigilance and paranoia (until WCB contacts me and I hop back onboard the Crazy Train), I’ve been able to understand I don’t like being around people and it’s got nothing to do with trauma. It’s just draining. Exercising for an hour is easier than spending five minutes with a friend.
This isn’t an excuse not to do therapy and stay isolated. It’s just insight I’ve gained. I forted up for years because I was scared of the world. That’s not introversion, that’s trauma. (I haven’t done any research yet into whether there’s a correlation between introversion and PTSD, but it wouldn’t shock me.) PTSD meant I couldn’t go to a restaurant. Introversion means I can go to dinner with friends but I’m not going to talk much, and I’m fucking done after an hour.
I go out into the community daily. I try to make everyone’s day I meet a little more pleasant (or just surreal). Unless they’re being a dick to someone, then I get all “me.” I can feed off that enough to get through.