Being an Extrovert is Fun

…When there are people around.

Winter break is coming up, and that means I’ll be back home. And by home I mean not college. Considering most of my friends are college friends, that means I won’t be around most of my friends.

Were I still unaware of my extroversion, I wouldn’t mind. Rather, I wouldn’t know to mind. As it is, I know what’s going to happen. I’ll get home, and I’ll probably survive until Christmas, and then maybe a few days after that I’ll enter a depressive state, because that’s what happens when I don’t people enough.

I suspect I’m actually being quite generous with how long it will take because I’ve gotten to that point over the course of an afternoon almost every Thursday because I don’t have any scheduled peopling that day except my morning class. I usually plan my dinner around when I know my friends will be eating so that I don’t go completely insane.

So I’ll go home, and at the latest I’ll enter a depressive state a few days after Christmas. Going to karate and church will help, usually for a day in my experience, but that still leaves gaps. Chances are the few friends I do have back home will be busy because they tend to have more of a life than I when we’re home.

I’m looking forward to break since I will have time to edit my writing, but I’m not looking forward to break because I won’t want to edit my writing because apathy is the primary symptom of people-withdrawal.

Yay.

Also doesn’t help that life is still strange.

I Hate Prophetic Dreams

I lied about life is strange, so here, have a poem. Mind you, it’s not fun. I’d appreciate prayer for the subject of the poem.

I Hate Prophetic Dreams
You’re in a hospital bed
With a single friend by your side
And I’m on the other end
Of a phone 300 miles away.
You texted, “Call me”
Half an hour ago, but I didn’t
And then when I did,
You didn’t answer
Because you were bleeding
With shattered glass on the floor
And a single friend by your side.
She says, “I’m glad you called,”
And “Come visit soon,”
But we both know I won’t
Because it’s just a dream
And it’s ending soon.
But when it does,
I barely know it’s over
And my first thought is
Absolute devastation.
So I text you in the haze of sleep
“I just had a dream that you attempted suicide,”
And you ask, “Are you feeling ok?”
“Have you told anyone else about this?”
But I haven’t.
You say, “I would never do that,”
But was that another lie?
Because you tell me now
“I was in a really, really dark place,”
You say, “I am and was
A suicide risk.”
You say, “I’m getting better,”
But how can I not worry
When I know how this ends?
Because you were bleeding
With shattered glass on the floor
And a single friend by your side.