Identity
It was an eventful summer of 2015. I had completed many books and a crush of mine started to see me. I was happy but I overwhelmed him with my problems. I had too many questions for him, namely on the subject of MBTI.
"I tested on the MBTI test again and this time I got INFJ" I said, while we readied to watch Hannibal.
"Can you stop talking about that test?" he groaned.
"I'm just curious, that's all. I want to know how valid it really is and where it's holes are" I said in a small voice.
"It's a test" he replied. "You aren't supposed to think about it."
Yet it's all I could think about and after he decided that he was no longer interested in me, I pursued it further in those dark days when I thought I would never love another again.
This wasn't the first time I had taken the Myer-Briggs Personality Test. The first time was at a drama summer camp when I was disappointed not to be with my other friend who regularly requested I come to this camp even though she spent the majority of her time and hours texting her best friend at intervals. I could have sworn they were gay but the truth was, I was jealous. Very deeply jealous. There was some part of me that others couldn't connect with. So I took the MBTI test my roommate had pushed on me.
I answered the test with the most logical answers I could make up. The result I got was INTJ. My roommate looked at me curiously and muttered, "That can't be right." Yet I was happy. Finally I had something I could identify with. I would be a smart, quiet leader. I decided to get excited about a political future I envisioned in my head.
Yet my politics came to clash with my college roommate. A few medications later and I received a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. I was angry of course until I met my RA. I really wanted to impress him even though he was a Marxist Socialist and more attracted to black girls than he ever could be to me.
I was also on Zoloft - an antidepressant. I was social and outgoing as well as rapid cycling (alternating between mania and depression) every few hours. I was questioning my diagnosis. I also decided to retake the MBTI test and I got a new type - INFP. I told my psychiatrist this and he replied that the medication was showing who I really was. I figured I needed to accept it. That was why I chose Public Relations as my major. After I got off my antidepressants, on Lithium and subsequently off it, then onto anti-anxiety medication and off that; and after breaking up with my crush, I decided then that this life wasn't for me. I was going to be an English teacher. Yet nobody wanted me to be different. They wanted me to be the same girl they knew who smiled when being talked down to and accepted her inferiority without question, so I left and I never looked back.
I wanted to write about my experiences in an honest way but I didn't know where to start. I turned to Quora and started writing thoughtful answers to questions on personality, mental illness and Bipolar Disorder. Yet when I began to question existing paradigms like Psychiatry, I was told to feel ashamed for helping other people. I was mad about my heartbreak and raged against men on the internet. When I finally was told I had BPD, it all made much more sense. I saw that I had been robbed of my personality at many intervals and that my repeated failure to live up to others expectations led them to not know what to do with me.
"I tested on the MBTI test again and this time I got INFJ" I said, while we readied to watch Hannibal.
"Can you stop talking about that test?" he groaned.
"I'm just curious, that's all. I want to know how valid it really is and where it's holes are" I said in a small voice.
"It's a test" he replied. "You aren't supposed to think about it."
Yet it's all I could think about and after he decided that he was no longer interested in me, I pursued it further in those dark days when I thought I would never love another again.
This wasn't the first time I had taken the Myer-Briggs Personality Test. The first time was at a drama summer camp when I was disappointed not to be with my other friend who regularly requested I come to this camp even though she spent the majority of her time and hours texting her best friend at intervals. I could have sworn they were gay but the truth was, I was jealous. Very deeply jealous. There was some part of me that others couldn't connect with. So I took the MBTI test my roommate had pushed on me.
I answered the test with the most logical answers I could make up. The result I got was INTJ. My roommate looked at me curiously and muttered, "That can't be right." Yet I was happy. Finally I had something I could identify with. I would be a smart, quiet leader. I decided to get excited about a political future I envisioned in my head.
Yet my politics came to clash with my college roommate. A few medications later and I received a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. I was angry of course until I met my RA. I really wanted to impress him even though he was a Marxist Socialist and more attracted to black girls than he ever could be to me.
I was also on Zoloft - an antidepressant. I was social and outgoing as well as rapid cycling (alternating between mania and depression) every few hours. I was questioning my diagnosis. I also decided to retake the MBTI test and I got a new type - INFP. I told my psychiatrist this and he replied that the medication was showing who I really was. I figured I needed to accept it. That was why I chose Public Relations as my major. After I got off my antidepressants, on Lithium and subsequently off it, then onto anti-anxiety medication and off that; and after breaking up with my crush, I decided then that this life wasn't for me. I was going to be an English teacher. Yet nobody wanted me to be different. They wanted me to be the same girl they knew who smiled when being talked down to and accepted her inferiority without question, so I left and I never looked back.
I wanted to write about my experiences in an honest way but I didn't know where to start. I turned to Quora and started writing thoughtful answers to questions on personality, mental illness and Bipolar Disorder. Yet when I began to question existing paradigms like Psychiatry, I was told to feel ashamed for helping other people. I was mad about my heartbreak and raged against men on the internet. When I finally was told I had BPD, it all made much more sense. I saw that I had been robbed of my personality at many intervals and that my repeated failure to live up to others expectations led them to not know what to do with me.
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