The Truth Behind My Laugh As An INFP

Matthew Hamilton
Matthew Hamilton

Growing up, being misunderstood is no longer a strange thing for me. People did that, gosh, they still do. One day, I woke up in a new city with a close friend next to me. She bragged about how blessed I was with such a cheerful personality. Oh, darling, so little you know.

Because the truth is, the girl who always seems to laugh even at the most stupid things doesn’t necessarily mean they are happy.

In fact, you can find so many dreadful memories lying deep inside my soul. I joke and keep it hidden so it will be easier to bear. As an INFP, I put a lot of faith in people. Yes, the phrase “seeing the world in rose-colored glasses” isn’t phony and I can relate to it. At that time I almost told her the truth behind my goofy attitude but I held back with a fear of being misunderstood.

Most people have no idea how, in truth, I carry such a heavy emotional baggage. I’ve never been so good at telling people about my story, thus it makes me good at listening. I love to listen, I love to learn to understand people, I yearn to observe the signs and the untold words, I want to know what’s flowing inside their veins. But I’m not lying how such concern almost always leaves me empty in the end.

God, I want to be treated the way I treat other people too.

I want to be asked if I was okay when I laughed hard, close to uncontrollably. Most people fail to realize how powerful a question is. How only with one question, they could either destroy or help someone’s life. I want to be asked with the same question I’ve thrown at them. I want to be asked why I had “that” smile when they asked me about my deceased father. I want to be asked why I laughed when they asked how my six year relationship ended. I want to be asked why I didn’t tell anyone when my grandpa lost his fight four years ago.

I want to be asked about the important things that I value the most, the thing that could take my guts to its fear, the thing that makes me feel connected with my inner soul. But they don’t. And if I, out of nowhere, bragged about something, their responds would be the same old cliché such as “that sucks”, “I know how you feel”, “I hope you’re okay with that”, “don’t worry, everything will be alright”. No, you just don’t. Have you ever lost a father when you were two?

Nobody will get it, okay?

So, there I was, hiding my true feelings, coming up as a rose with skulls inside its trunk, comforting people when dramas hit their face, covering everything with warm smiles and light attentions about why it’s making them feel miserable, then telling them if everything wasn’t go as planned I’d always be there for them. I want them to get in touch with their own feelings. I want them to feel loved despite who they really are.

In the end, I know it’s time to stop expecting. Instead, try to learn to accept people the way they are. Everyone has their own imperfections, and however I need to let go of any kind of resentment.

Though there will always be a small part of me who screams “please ask me how I feel” in every joke and laugh I’ve created. I just hope that someday, someone will come into my life and tell me it’s okay to stop sugarcoating raw feelings with fake happiness. Someone who is sighted enough to look past my superficial appearance. Someone who’s willing to listen when I finally open up about my deep thoughts and they wouldn’t dare to misinterpret my vulnerability because nothing hurts an INFP more than being misunderstood.

Someone who will appreciate my lack for words and help me to glue all the shattered puzzles back together into a whole story.

Either in a form of a friend or a lover, I’ll be tremendously grateful. TC mark

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