Overall, I’ve always been a happy outsider. Even when others made it hard to stay happy. Even when the happiness seemed to vanish because I was too different. And even when I didn’t notice I was still happy inside. But I’ve stayed an outsider until today. It seems deep down, I always was happy enough.
I, the shy one, afraid of too much self-confidence, and yet starting so many sentences with the letter following H in the alphabet. I grew up with strange interests and stuck to them, I first was around other children my age when I turned three and had trouble fitting in. I talked like an adult, I ate with a fork and knife instead of a spoon and sat down to draw for hours instead of playing with the others. If they didn’t let me or I never really wanted, I don’t remember. Only that they never understood. Some were nasty, but better times came and turned worse. Worst. And better again, quite good, and finally fantastic. My life has changed so much in the past few years, and even more so in the past few months. In fact, I’ve never been happier. And never more content.
But still, there is the one conundrum about my character neither I nor anyone else seems able to wrap their head around. I am shy. I am afraid to show confidence. I am terrible in social situations. I positively dread them. And yet I talk. Far more than I should, far more than is appropriate. Talking, babbling even is my way of covering up the shyness. I’d rather talk than fall silent. Silence is the one thing I fear, especially with people I don’t know very well. It makes me helpless and I can regain control by talking alone. I’ll joke and laugh too loudly only to be embarrassed about it a split second later. Nevermind, but please no painful silence!
My case proves that talkative natures aren’t automatically extroverts. Making yourself the centre of attention makes it easier to deal with situations in which you fear to loose control. As long as you only need to manage your monologue, you are responsible only for yourself and your statements. They might be embarassing but at least it’s not your fault if the conversations takes a bad course. It’s your monologue after all, no one else is involved. A proper flood of words is an action as introverted as can be. At least in my experience. You can always ask me about it, I’ll sit in my corner and answer with a little monologue. Promise!
And yes, for anyone who was just about to ask it, there’s a kind of chiasm-like alliteration in the title.
I will stop now.
For f***’s sake!