I want to be alone ...

According to the My.ers-Br.iggs Type Indicator, I am ISFJ. At least, I was when I was 18. I took a gap year, working as a volunteer youth worker and part of my training involved a degree of psychological profiling. I'd be interested to know if 16 (oh.my.goodness... it hasn't been that long since I was 18, has it??) years on, I have changed. Just as I said in my last post about being reduced to merely the curve of a graph, so I don't wish the essence of me to be four letters. That said, I remember recognising me in the definition that accompanied my characterisation. Especially the "I".

Here's what the Wik.i.pedia has to say (because I didn't think I could say it as well):

The terms extravert and introvert are used in a special sense when discussing the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. People who prefer extraversion draw energy from action: they tend to act, then reflect, then act further. If they are inactive, their level of energy and motivation tends to decline. Conversely, those whose prefer introversion become less energized as they act: they prefer to reflect, then act, then reflect again. People who prefer introversion need time out to reflect in order to rebuild energy.

The extravert's flow is directed outward toward people and objects, and the introvert's is directed inward toward concepts and ideas. There are several contrasting characteristics between extraverts and introverts: extraverts are action-oriented and desire breadth, while introverts are thought-oriented and seek depth. Extraverts often prefer more frequent interaction, while introverts prefer more substantial interaction.

I know that I have heard so many babyloss mamas talk about how different we are after our babies die, how we have to spend time getting to know the new us. That's true but, for me, mixed in with all the newness is a more extreme version of who I have always been. I am more strongly "I" than I have ever been. I crave solitude - vast swathes of it. I have so little energy for social interactions and, if given a choice about whether to go out and meet up with people, I will invariably decline. My energy is directed towards holding fast to my family, to trying to ensure that my children are not damaged by my grief and theirs. I enjoy their company - and their daddy's - unreservedly. And yet, I still fall into bed every night exhausted by the effort it takes not to simply hole up with a book or the laptop and hide.

I have several friends whom I have not seen since Emma died. They have been giving me space. They drop off email and texts saying they are thinking of me. I appreciate that. Some of them I suspect I will not see again. Time will pass and it will become too awkward to resume the friendships. I do not feel sadness - I know that relationships do change with time. It is simply that my grief has perhaps telescoped the time it would take for these relationships to fade from my life anyway. My loss is simplifying my life and my desires. I yearn for gentle, silent space and places to pause for reflection and dreams of my little girl. Mostly, I just want to be alone.