Here I am, attempting to document my thoughts about what it's like to be an extreme introvert, while every word that I write seems to discredit what I claim to be; after all, words and introverts don't seem to belong together. The fact that these are written words and that they remain unspoken means little. I'm releasing these words rather than hanging on to them, setting them free rather than storing them inside, pouring them forth rather than bottling them up. I'm defeating my purpose with every keystroke.
And yet my claim remains the same. The irony involved in sharing my thoughts is likely to make my credentials hard to understand - if not believe - but that's an integral part of being me. I still intend to put together this collection of notes. Whether my words work against me or not, I believe they are still true and honest.
Maybe they'll also carry some insight with them.