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“I think about dying, but I don't want to die. Not even close. In fact, my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic. There's so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I'm still here, in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can't quite figure out what the hell I'm doing or how to get out of it.”

me: *breaks down crying in the privacy of my own home*

“I feel too much. That’s what’s going on. Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel the wrong ways? My insides don’t match up with my outsides. Do anyone’s inside and outsides match up? I don’t know. I’m only me. Maybe that’s what a person’s personality is: the difference between the inside and the outside. But it’s worse for me. I wonder if everyone thinks it’s worse for him. Probably. But it really is worse for me.”

The most INFP thing I have ever said out loud: