This is the second part in a series of self-reflection posts on being introverted. It is not intended to be a self-help guide or advice for others. Your feedback and thoughts are most welcome!

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Read Part 1 Here.

Moving On...

I don't recall spending much time on building friendships after leaving high-school. Obviously, there were people I met along the way and associated with. But the deliberate construction of a bond with another person just wasn't my thing. The few people I did associate with were mainly ones I knew from high school. At the time, I didn't have any self-awareness or people who I could rely on - so bad choices began.

After leaving school, I tried technical college for a while. It turned out to be just like school, academically and socially. Not being one to talk to my family about anything and not having any sort of social circle meant I was on my own. At eighteen that didn't bother me. I thought I knew what I needed to know and could cover the rest with bravado.

The first storm of my life was brewing. My parents still couldn't understand me and I was starting to associate with people who could not have cared less about me. At the time I thought this was fine, but reflecting on it some twenty years later it was anything but. My attitude towards life and lack of meaningful relationships was leaving a void. But I could not see that at the time.

To fill that void I turned to solitary activities which gave me a short-term hit of satisfaction - drinking and gambling. I could engage in both easily and there was no need for anyone else to be present in order for me to feel entertained and that I was part of the world. But the feeling soon became short lived and I needed to gamble and drink more often. At the same time, I was striving for more independence from my family. That independence came with responsibilities, none of which I was ready for.

Being an introvert, but having no idea that you are is a curious circumstance. Being a headstrong eighteen year old is difficult for everyone around you. Combine those two things along with financial responsibility and there is a recipe for disaster.

I'm not sure how long it actually was, probably not more than a few weeks after moving out - I was broke. I was earning a small amount and recieving income support while looking for a proper job. This should have easily supported a meger but acceptable existence. Nope, not me.

That's when I started borrowing money that I could never pay back. Things quickly got worse, a lot worse. I owed money to what felt like everyone. I didn't have a brass razoo to my name. And I didn't fell like I could talk to anyone, I didn't want to talk to anyone. But ultimatly, I didn't know how to talk to anyone about my life and what I was going through.

Being a misunderstood introvert had meant that no one had ever taught me that reaching out for help is ok. It looked like everything was sliding downhill quickly.

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