The INFJ Obsession With Tragedy

I lead with a strange philosophy.

I cannot tell you when my sadness started. I think it was always there.

I cannot remember a time from my childhood wherein I knew that I was happy and carefree. Looking back in family pictures, I never smiled. In life, I was the child who never made a sound. I didn’t communicate. I was very shy. My mom said I seemed to have “very little interest in things.” I was always caught up in my head, and I never had friends.

Being home schooled, I grew up isolated. There was a period in my life where it seemed that my extroverted nature blossomed, but as I have matured into an adult, I seem to have regressed back to that small and lonely child again. I think that my depression was always there, even when I didn’t know what it was.

I am diagnosed with Chronic Severe Depression, taking several medications a day. Often, I fail to feel desire for my own purpose in life. I cannot feel as though I wish to do anything for myself. I do a great many things, and I think I have a chance to make something of myself.

This is me btw: http://www.facebook.com/zeldatetrasheik

I’m a cosplayer, actress, musician, singer, composer, and model. I have a band. I was a lead actress in a film last summer, and I do all of this while going to school full time while also supporting myself. Type in ZeldaTetraSheik on google, and you will find me almost everywhere. (It’s kind of my name that I marketed for myself.)

But this post is not so much about what I do and what I’ve done. It’s about my purpose behind why I do what I do.

Throughout the extent of my depression, I seem to have embraced tragedy with almost illogical obsession.  Such tragedy that may be likened to a beautiful story of separated lovers (preferably by death) or a heart-wrenching melody bowed on the violin. I am obsessed with tragic stories.

In acknowledgement of my unhealthy obsession, it appears as though, amidst my deep and often misunderstood self, I have superimposed a tragedy upon myself, wherein I am the tragic protagonist of a story who must give her story in music to the world before she dies. This is her main duty in life. Nothing else really matters to her. She neglects herself and does not care for herself because she has no intent upon doing anything for herself. She has a goal she must attain so that her life seems worthwhile, despite her depression. She would never give up without giving to the world. That would be selfish of her.

But is it selfish of me to be this way?

 

 

 

May 19th, 2017

March 20th 2017
Once. I thought my words held meaning to them-
Wings. Guided by Wind. Masts upon the ships
Of Thought- which you ne’er sought to e’re condemn-
So sad to sea. My wings are faltered lips.

My mind. My captain. He is dying now-
Locked away beneath in cabins of doubt.
Silent. No Wind to hush the creaking bow.
Pills to take- they make me care less about.
Everything.

This Is My First Post

This will not be anything fancy.

Names are one of the most crucial parts of creativity. The name of something is so important that I oft find myself numbering various particles of my creative expostulations, such as poetry and stories. I will spend far too long looking up words on the internet to create a username. I read books entitled “10,001 BABY NAMES” just for fun, examining meanings, extorting possibilities . I am so far gone in this direction that I might more quickly name my first kids “Number 1” and “Number 2” before calling them Stevie Nicks or Micky Mouse. Nothing ever seems good enough for a name because a name is important. Suddenly, one must encompass the entirety of a tangible object, concept, or being in one word which depicts and holds meaning. That is difficult, because nothing is simple. After the fiftieth poem saved on my iphone notes, I just started dating them to use as names. Emily Dickinson, my favorite poet, and The Beatles, one of my favorite bands, often use the first phrase or groups of words for the titles of their songs and poetry. English is the only language I know. I am not particularly fascinated with languages in general. I am no Tolkien; however, I do love English. English is the best language. I don’t care about your opinion.

Google is one of my best friends. I just spent about an hour googling “Most beautiful words in the English language.” I ended up not using any of them in the title for this blog, opting for something with exemplified simplicity, a notion which correlates more directly with myself. I love to read meanings of words; I like how words sound when put together in different patterns for effect.

Being a Flier/Flyer- (Yes, both spellings are acceptable in terms of something which flies ((I’ve checked)) )- it’s something I relate to- a simple concept of flying, that I am on an endless journey to accomplish a great deed after having traveled through much weather and storm and trials. I am ever-doing it, as I am ever-flying; hence, my name. One might be able to discern that I am so phenomenally dependent on the important of naming that I am expending my entire first blog post explaining why I named my blog EverFly.

I haven’t written much of anything in a while, except the sappy love-poetry I exert upon my poor boyfriend whom I love in a way that only the most passionate, obsessive, fantastical lovers can love and devote themselves with every portion of their incomprehensible beings. He just made me a breakfast sandwich and poured me more coffee. One cannot question how much I adore him with sempiternal reverence after the acknowledgement of this.

I am in a band with him, a newly formed thing, called Ruby Poster. I’m not a particularly big fan of the name, but I am trying to do teamwork, or something. Still learning. Still trying. I am a lonely go-getter, kind of gal. I also like control, but I also know how to be patient and understanding, even if it ends up making me explode.

I am an ailurophile. That is a lover of cats. I love cats. They are my children. But no, I did not name them “Number 1” and “Number 2”

My favorite color is white, mostly for its symbolism, so easily marred as my heart in a world of hardship. I love white roses. Jasmine flowers. White lilies.

I also love the color purple.

My favorite animals are unicorns and cats. I am a pianist and vocalist. My favorite composer is Rachmaninoff. I love the Beatles. Warm weather. Caffeine. And deep discussions about intense and emotional topics.