Dark Personality (INTP)

Took a test. Here're the results: Architects need not be thought of as only interested in drawing blueprints for buildings or roads or bridges. They are the master designers of all kinds of theoretical systems, including school curricula, corporate strategies, and new technologies. For Architects, the world exists primarily to be analyzed, understood, explained - and re-designed. External reality in itself is unimportant, little more than raw material to be organized into structural models. What is important for Architects is that they grasp fundamental principles and natural laws, and that their designs are elegant, that is, efficient and coherent.

Architects are rare - maybe one percent of the population - and show the greatest precision in thought and speech of all the types. They tend to see distinctions and inconsistencies instantaneously, and can detect contradictions no matter when or where they were made. It is difficult for an Architect to listen to nonsense, even in a casual conversation, without pointing out the speaker's error. And in any serious discussion or debate Architects are devastating, their skill in framing arguments giving them an enormous advantage. Architects regard all discussions as a search for understanding, and believe their function is to eliminate inconsistencies, which can make communication with them an uncomfortable experience for many.

Ruthless pragmatists about ideas, and insatiably curious, Architects are driven to find the most efficient means to their ends, and they will learn in any manner and degree they can. They will listen to amateurs if their ideas are useful, and will ignore the experts if theirs are not. Authority derived from office, credential, or celebrity does not impress them. Architects are interested only in what make sense, and thus only statements that are consistent and coherent carry any weight with them.

Architects often seem difficult to know. They are inclined to be shy except with close friends, and their reserve is difficult to penetrate. Able to concentrate better than any other type, they prefer to work quietly at their computers or drafting tables, and often alone. Architects also become obsessed with analysis, and this can seem to shut others out. Once caught up in a thought process, Architects close off and persevere until they comprehend the issue in all its complexity. Architects prize intelligence, and with their grand desire to grasp the structure of the universe, they can seem arrogant and may show impatience with others who have less ability, or who are less driven.

My type is INTP. Go figure. For anyone who wants to know more about my personality: http://typelogic.com/intp.html
or
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/INTP

The gist: INTPs are pensive, analytical folks. They may venture so deeply into thought as to seem detached, and often actually are oblivious to the world around them.

Precise about their descriptions, INTPs will often correct others (or be sorely tempted to) if the shade of meaning is a bit off. While annoying to the less concise, this fine discrimination ability gives INTPs so inclined a natural advantage as, for example, grammarians and linguists.

INTPs are relatively easy-going and amenable to almost anything until their principles are violated, about which they may become outspoken and inflexible. They prefer to return, however, to a reserved albeit benign ambiance, not wishing to make spectacles of themselves.

Well, what do you know. That's me, according to the Internet Gods.

Dark Flight

The time has come for me to spread my tattered wings and fly away from this quiet little nook. The cats have hidden themselves from sight, and my father's coldness is beginning to take its toll on me. I should go. That thought sends a little jolt of adrenaline through me. I should start packing and fly away back to my piano, and my forgotten music. I've barely spoken two sentences to him. As we pass each other wordlessly in the corridors, I flinch inside at what we've become. Strangers to each other, and all I want to do is close the distance between us. I'm no stranger to losing the people I care about, but he was the closest thing to a father that I had. I know how to detach myself from my conflicting emotions though, and for the past week that's what I've been doing. Today however, that emotional numbness is wearing off and I find myself growing sharper and snapping at everyone who's ticked me off. Sigh. Maybe that's why my cats have hidden. When the rays of the sun glow a deep amber in the afternoon, signaling his impending death, I will make my way home.
Do you resent me for having said yes?

Dark Resignation

After all these years, and we're still fighting. I've given up on you, ZJ. Go live your life the way you want to. I hope you're happy with Dan. I don't want to love you anymore. R has returned, and his final words to me last night were, "I care about you. I just wish you'd do something about your life and your career." Ouch. Thanks a lot. My father...ah, this touchy touchy subject. I waltzed through the heavy wrought iron gates yesterday evening, and he was unbelievably nice. It'll wear off in a few days, I'm sure. Until then, I'm content to sit on my ledge overlooking a vast green meadow with the two cats on either side of me. The winds are cold and bracing, and maybe I can forget about my mortal woes if I focus on the eternal beauty of nature. I've been slipping away from a lot of people, and perhaps it is a good thing that I've recently purchased a new book of classical sheet music that I just know will drive me up the wall. Still, it will improve my technique and the pieces don't sound half bad. Right. I'm off to blast Pink on the stereo and play Warcraft, sex buddies be damned.

Dark Despair

The air is still and dead, and the empty house is flooded with a pale yellow glow, my desperate attempt to repel the darkness that clings to my very soul. Sleep eludes me once again, and I find myself growing increasingly restless, wandering the vacant halls aimlessly. The night has become strange and unfamiliar, and the moon is no longer the friend she once was. I fear I am going crazy from the broken thoughts crowding up my mind. The amber light soothes me slightly, but still I cannot close my eyes and drift into the great vacuum of sleep. It is on nights like these when I crave some small measure of peace that I turn to the bottle, and wonder if it is worth the risk to swallow all the colourful pills that I hoard for just this purpose. I can feel the walls around me rising once more to shield me from the world. My eyes have already reddened, and my mood grows steadily darker. If only there was a way to rip my pain out, and pull these insistent threads from my mind. I'm tired of questioning my purpose in this life, I'm tired of delving into philosophy to explain my driftings and why I feel this way. There are days when I drift through the motions of life, feeling as though the world is one big illusion and wondering when the Magician is going to end his show. There are nights when I can't fall asleep and hit the replay button on my playlist and drown myself in my mind. There are times when I need people to validate my existence, to pull me out from the pits in life that I always manage to fall into. I am tired of living an empty life, waking up every morning to conform to the expectations of a society I have long detached myself from. I'm tired of struggling in this web of deceit, lying to everyone so that I can come home, close all the doors and windows and make friends with the shadows. I'm tired of everything, I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of being unable to sleep. The minutes tick past on the clock, and I find myself hating the instrument that has enslaved humanity. I'm tired, and I'm weary, but I don't think I can handle another bottle or a fistful of pills, however pretty they may look. How do I exit this play I've been forced to act in? How do I call for a timeout when I don't even know why I'm playing this game? I find myself questioning the theory of existentialism on this dark, endless night. Let it go on forever, this blackness that mirrors the colour of my soul, let it take me from a world I was never meant to live in in the first place. I'm tired of being unable to express the demons that torment me from within. I'm tired of having to explain that the world without drains even more from me. I'm tired of everything and everyone. I'm tired of holding out for something better, of waiting for someone to come along and save me from myself. I've stopped writing for a long time, stopped caring for even longer. Maybe tonight, when I clean out my supply of pills and drink, my heart will cease to beat and my demons will lay down their pitchforks and allow me to rest in peace at long last. I have passed through this world and its people like a shadow, brushing lightly against the souls of purity and innocence, souls so different from mine, and I know that when I leave, the darkness that surrounds me will erase me from their memories. For some, this erasure has already begun.
Of first times and final moments.