I would be very grateful if you could bring my typological identity crisis to resolution.
I am what you might call, a creative type, prone to doubts, loss of focus, and periods of depression. I love learning, but I insist on teaching myself everything. I simply fail in educational environments. Back at college, I would go in completely prepared, having read up on all there is to know on the subject(s), and then end the year knowing absolutely nothing! I suppose I was guilty of getting distracted, making friends and socialising.
Despite this, I have always thought of myself as an introvert. I go into social situations always nervously, but when I am comfortable, I can be as loud and expressive as anyone else (perhaps too much)! I'm not very consistent though, as I can be drained of all energy without warning, and end the night sullen, and feeling slightly ill. I often go for months without a word to any of my friends (for which I am sorry about). I'm just not very good at maintaining multiple threads in my life simultaneously. One thing always rules over my head at the expense of everything else.
I value work-ethic. I slavishly devote myself to my goals and scold myself if I have not done everything I set out to do in a day. I'm always aware of the passing of time: the future has a foreboding power, and I hate to look back to the past as it only highlights how much time I have already lost. I guess, as a result, I can be somewhat overbearing at times. I feel I must make sure everyone else is doing what needs to be done to ensure that dinner is ready at a reasonable time (left to themselves, my family regularly leave it past 9 pm, sometimes as late as 10 pm). This is not something I have always done. I used to be so much more detached from everything.
To add some miscellany: I'm an avid reader. I set an absolute minimum of 100 pages to read every day. I have a whole repertoire of voice impressions I do. I recently purged video games from my life. Don't miss them. I must have a death wish. At my birth, I was half-strangled by my umbilical cord. Since age 15, I have been blessed with a 7(ish)-inch scar running up my forearm after a rendezvous with an interior door full of glass. It was that day when I finally realised why deoxygenated blood bleeds out red and not blue. I'm not sure the cleaners were delighted with my donations!
I would post a photo, but I have nothing to hand. Feel free to ask me questions if this is not enough to go on.