#IntrovertDiaries 3

Most people think I’m quiet. The kind of person who stays on the sidelines of a conversation, nods politely, and leaves early. That’s partly true. I don’t speak often. But when I do, I tend to speak for hours. Not because I enjoy the sound of my voice, but because I’ve been storing things inside for so long, I don’t know how to say just one sentence and leave it there. I don’t do small talk. I’ve tried. Smiled during weather conversations. Laughed at jokes I didn’t get. But none of it feels like me.

When I speak, I speak in depths.
And I only talk when I feel like the other person is worth diving with.

It’s not a disorder. I’ve googled enough late at night to know that.
It’s just… a different kind of wiring.
Less social. More selective.
Not anti-people. Just pro-silence.

I’ve always been more disciplined than loud. My weekends aren’t about crowded spaces or party lights. To me, a party feels like forced smiles wrapped in unwanted sarcasm. I prefer my own room, where I know where everything is, especially my thoughts.

Yes, maybe I’m weird. Or “hard to live with,” as one old friend once said. But I’ve never minded being alone. I mind being misunderstood.
To some, I’m boring.
To others, I’m sharply focused.
The truth lies somewhere in the middle.

What most don’t see is how much energy goes into my camouflage. I’ve learned how to seem okay when I’m not. Learned how to smile while hiding a thousand drafts of thoughts behind my teeth.
I can walk into a room full of people and blend in so well, you’ll think I belong.
But I don’t. Not really.
I’m just good at wearing the right quiet.

But give me a page, a pen, and a bit of unclaimed time, and I’ll tell you things you never thought I could say. My secrets don’t spill in conversations. They find their way into metaphors, between line breaks and unfinished rhymes.

At open mics and poetry corners, I speak like I’ve been waiting to breathe.
Not because I want to be heard, but because it’s the only place I don’t have to filter myself.
There, no one expects small talk.
Only truth.
And I have a lot of that.

So yeah, maybe I’ve survived this way.
Quietly.
Carefully.
Camouflaged.

But I’m not hiding out of fear.
I’m just choosing to speak where my voice feels like it matters.