oxytocin overdose

SHARDS OF  IMAGINATIONS

〈FICTIONAL TRUTH〉

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It must have been a little over a week, but she’s been in a trance-like state where her otherwise acute perception of time had been reduced to a vague background noise. The more she struggled with this feeling that had effectively invaded her heart and taken it hostage, it only grew in intensity and depth. Ironic as it is that her penetrating insight that had never failed her, she wished this feeling was a mere miscalculation, one of starry-eyed fantasizing and naïvety. How ironic that in the past when the same insight detected discrepancies in men she was infatuated with and consequentially discredit their person, she struggle hard to blind herself to this acute awareness and tried to imagine love where it never existed. Her insight had never failed her, but it had never followed her desires either. It was her unbiased comrade, one who wouldn’t budge from the truth no matter how sour it is.

So now, when it had finally located the one she’s been looking for all along, she wants to turn back. Not because she doesn’t want him. She does. More than anything. But how do you explain or rationalize this strange occurrence? How do you explain to someone that you know them as deeply as you know yourself, because your souls are intertwined? How do you tell someone that this feeling that has invaded you, hasn’t invaded in reality, but it has been merely discovered, as it had lay dormant waiting for him. It wasn’t infatuation. She dreaded the implications of what she was feeling, even though her observations and conclusions had never been wrong. How do you tell someone all of this without sounding mentally unstable? That you love them. Not the bubble-gum love in cheesy chick flicks where the girl falls for the guy’s looks or popularity or simply what he could offer her. No, this feeling transpired the tangible. It wasn’t a selfish feeling, it didn’t have a sense of urgency that one is overcome with when one craves pizza or is turned on by an attractive person. It was still and deep. She had a deep care for his wellbeing and was willing to do anything for him even if it proved detrimental to her being.

The kind Welsh boy with the big brown puppy eyes which lent a glimpse into his soul for the one who cared to look. She knew the stories he hadn’t told her yet and his deepest fears. She could peer behind the smoke screen of what was apparent and see what was hidden. She knew all of this because by looking into his soul she was looking into hers.

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Intrinsic motivation

INFJs are notorious for being at odds with carrying out tasks that have no intrinsic value to them. The fibres of their world is made up of values and heartfelt meanings, so anything outside this scope , they are unable to pursue. Not knowing this made my life so miserable, I felt like a zombie. In school, I would always leave assignments and revision for exams for the last possible minute, whilst being engrossed in books. I wished I could just be at home reading books! In class I would usually replay chapters from the latest book I was reading and wondering whether the book I ordered in the library had come yet. That’s where my heart lay, not irrelevant facts that did nothing for me. But being pushed on my parents and society, I thought there was something inherently wrong with me. Though I would always get top grades, school was incredibly boring for me. It wasn’t until late last year when I realized that I couldn’t spend 2 more years in university when I counted down the days  like a prison sentence. I used to replicate my primary school antics and would wait until 12 hours before deadline when I would finish the assignment at a superhuman speed. I would berate myself and swear to change my ways, but when I get back my assignment with a top grade, I think ‘what’s the point if I get good grades?’ . It dawned on me that I was trying to fit myself into a system that wasn’t made for me. I’m driven by a deep curiosity that I can’t contain nor control. If I try to ignore it or regulate it, I end up so utterly torn apart by the mental anguish simmering under the surface that I fail to see point in living and end up becoming suicidal.

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