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A Constant Riddle
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Discussion Starter #1 (Edited)
(I apologize if such a thread has been created in the past)

Hello, everyone :) I have been on this website for quite some time now and find it very fascinating. I still feel very torn and unsure about my true personality type, but I have begun to capture little shades of myself and am leaning towards certain types. I find the cognitive functions especially interesting because they shed light on why we think the way we do, lifting the curtain and illuminating who we are beneath the surface. As a writer, I was wondering if there were any patterns or trends in the ways cognitive functions manifested through words. Personally, as a writer, I think my words are the sheerest, most vulnerable workings of my heart and tell me what I cannot. They dig below the trenches of my consciousness and shimmer with all that I am. I thought that perhaps it would be interesting to ignite discussion to type and writing style, and how cognitive functions played a role.

I am personally battling between ISFP and INFP, although sometimes I wonder if I truly use Fe deep down. I believed I was an INFP for the longest time, but when my mom was reminiscing about how tactile I was as a child, and how I found using all of my senses beautiful, I thought it could be a jarring hint that I am truly a sensor. However, I still feel more gravitated towards Si than Se, even though I am extremely perceiver-like (lifestyle-wise and in decision making), so perhaps I am truly the latter. However, I was wondering if my writing style could betray what I truly use. My writing has always been flooded with vibrant detail and extremely colorful-but not from my environment itself, but my mind's eye.

I thought maybe it could be intriguing to share our writing styles and how they capture similar patterns, ways of thinking, word choice, or how we unravel our thoughts. I think this little glimmer of writing where I poured my heart into the words and let them erupt. I think that they could illustrate how I think quite well (this feels quite uncomfortable to share, but I will still proceed):



Old autumn came along, skimming her golden fingers against the ripples of yesterday and tomorrow. We slept under her dazzling whisper, let her familiar waters soak into our hearts, and felt the tremor of time against us. The shadows of who we were, dissolved into who we could become. The promising slope of October death made me shiver with venomous delight, and yet I felt as light as a summer wind all the while. I longed for the darkness, the dismay, the old cacophony of death, that always made me feel so solemn, that inspired in me feelings lovelier than the eye could fashion. But I still heard the pressing, shimmering laughter of childhood bray inside of me, tulip-like kisses of hope, leaving me breathless. So torn between death and life, love and hate. So torn between the enemy and the savior. So hopeless, and yet filled with a sunshine only imaginable in the purest of heavens. So I surrendered to the fallen twilight sky, the old purple cauldron of darkness above me, the lurid gasps of thunder shrieking from above, and let myself fall prey to the same nightmare.. So I surrender to the fallen twilight sky, the old purple cauldron of darkness above me, the lurid gasps of thunder shrieking from above, and let myself fall prey to the same nightmare. Beneath the stillness of the night, I rolled with every tear of thunder, becoming one with the weeping darkness; a butchered corpse of childhood innocence and old repose.

Years later, I long for that golden consummation of my heart, to feel morning and night collide into my anguish and revive the fires that ensnared me so long ago. How I ache to escape from these shards of winter glass, the deafening grip of tomorrow, that pierces me without remorse. How I ache to feel the Auburn secret of autumn entwine in me forever, and never let me go. How I long for thunder to strike me into eternal sleep once again, violently, desperately.*
 

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infp 9w1
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I like this idea. Writing comes secondary to me after art, so my words seem to get stuck in the stones and bash against the shore rather than flow freely as I would wish them. I know what you are going through. I have been caught in an endless swirling wind of confusion too, up in the clouds trying to find my way to the ground. I want to feel truly that I am an infp, but the impish delight of my mind is to be ever searching for myself while never sitting still in a moment of understanding for long. When it seems that I have reached out to find my own hand is there reaching back out to me, my fingertips slip, and I am pulled back into the breeze where I flit yet again. As I go along on my journey I learn more and see wonders and struggles in every type. I think the neverending quest of the infp is to forever seek magic. When I looked through a little door that a test told me was mine, INFP was written. When I stepped inside I saw many wonderful and tragic things. It felt like home, like a world I had created, but never perfect. Is there even a perfect fit for me? How could I know for sure without peaking through the other doors. I want to explore the isfp world with its mystical quality, beings of nature like dryads they are often depicted as. It feel wrong though, like I shouldn't really be there. I know they would look at my awkward way strangely. They are so beautiful and full of grace. I keep trying to close the door to this entire way of thinking to look again at myself with innocent eyes, but I am drawn back to mbti again. It is intoxicating.
I have been reading the writing of infp authors to understand more of their creative styles, but I find that I was always drawn to the written work of infp's anyway. Their enchanting whimsy dripping with teardrops and the beckoning whispers of faeries. I relish is the way the sensory world looks through infp eyes in writing. It is the dream of a sensory world written through childhood memories.

Maybe I will be lost on this magical journey forever, or maybe we will find magic elsewhere, a hand reaching out to me. I tell myself to not to get trapped here, but I may be lost for I have wandered so far. Where is my door?
 

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A Constant Riddle
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Discussion Starter #3
I like this idea. Writing comes secondary to me after art, so my words seem to get stuck in the stones and bash against the shore rather than flow freely as I would wish them. I know what you are going through. I have been caught in an endless swirling wind of confusion too, up in the clouds trying to find my way to the ground. I want to feel truly that I am an infp, but the impish delight of my mind is to be ever searching for myself while never sitting still in a moment of understanding for long. When it seems that I have reached out to find my own hand is there reaching back out to me, my fingertips slip, and I am pulled back into the breeze where I flit yet again. As I go along on my journey I learn more and see wonders and struggles in every type. I think the neverending quest of the infp is to forever seek magic. When I looked through a little door that a test told me was mine, INFP was written. When I stepped inside I saw many wonderful and tragic things. It felt like home, like a world I had created, but never perfect. Is there even a perfect fit for me? How could I know for sure without peaking through the other doors. I want to explore the isfp world with its mystical quality, beings of nature like dryads they are often depicted as. It feel wrong though, like I shouldn't really be there. I know they would look at my awkward way strangely. They are so beautiful and full of grace. I keep trying to close the door to this entire way of thinking to look again at myself with innocent eyes, but I am drawn back to mbti again. It is intoxicating.
I have been reading the writing of infp authors to understand more of their creative styles, but I find that I was always drawn to the written work of infp's anyway. Their enchanting whimsy dripping with teardrops and the beckoning whispers of faeries. I relish is the way the sensory world looks through infp eyes in writing. It is the dream of a sensory world written through childhood memories.

Maybe I will be lost on this magical journey forever, or maybe we will find magic elsewhere, a hand reaching out to me. I tell myself to not to get trapped here, but I may be lost for I have wandered so far. Where is my door?
Wow, your sentiment is stunning. I recognize so much of myself in your words. The way you write feels like a breeze from far away, curtaining the reader into a realm, far, far away, where flowers speak and the veils are thinned between all forms of life. Like you, I can never feel content with one understanding of myself. I feel a desperate desire to discover a home for myself, a label to brand myself to, but I never can remain satisfied or still. My mind constantly spins with paradoxes. Whoever we are, I know we will keep searching for magic in our distinct ways. I find it very fascinating that writing comes secondary to art to you. Art is such a foreign construct to me. I try to pour myself into the colors and shapes but to no avail, only words can strike the strings of my soul and resound with the stories I hold inside. It's beautiful that you have many outlets that can capture who you are, that can weave in you your own sense of magic. I too struggle with stepping into the world of ISFP. In some ways, I can recognize it in myself, but only the shimmering door of INFP beckons me, only it knows all the twists and turns and secrets of my heart and mind. When I write about my sensory world, it is like pulling my words through the mists of a looking glass. The colors I paint with are the rarest, most precious ones only known to my heart, the illustrations conjured from my oldest dream and deepest desire. Whatever it be, whatever function it stems from, I know it holds a magic that only I carry. My unique potion of words.
 

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Your enchanting view of my writing subdues deep wells of insecurity within me that I draw from the depths of my innermost worries. Words have often felt like a field filled with briars and hidden thorns but flowers too. The thorns could do damage if I did not know where to step. I've kept words to myself mostly, speaking only in my head for a long time to let the ephemerality of my mind whisk my tales and poetry into the breeze of lost memories. I've recently started writing stories though. Letting my words fall here to play with your own has been freeing. I would tell you if you have a desire to make art then search for art you would like to make. I don't focus on colors and shapes in my own art but instead on lines and stories. There are many ways to make art. I was so shy about showing others my drawings at one time, and so I was about writing, but I am exploring my blossoming field now. I don't mind that my dress and legs may be a little torn by thorns, because I have heard tales from the flowers and met with the faeries that whispered their magic and brought forth the words from my heart.

I am going to sit alone in my field for now though so another can share their world.
 

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@glittercloud You write beautifully. To me, what you wrote reads as similar to Si in its original understanding of personal sensory impressionism. MBTI Si includes other aspects about external organization, structure, traditionalism, etc. that you may not relate to. You also wrote, "My writing has always been flooded with vibrant detail and extremely colorful-but not from my environment itself, but my mind's eye." That sounds more Si than Se-- when you perceive (and express) details, it's not from the environment itself but from your personal impressions of it.
 
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A Constant Riddle
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@glittercloud You write beautifully. To me, what you wrote reads as similar to Si in its original understanding of personal sensory impressionism. MBTI Si includes other aspects about external organization, structure, traditionalism, etc. that you may not relate to. You also wrote, "My writing has always been flooded with vibrant detail and extremely colorful-but not from my environment itself, but my mind's eye." That sounds more Si than Se-- when you perceive (and express) details, it's not from the environment itself but from your personal impressions of it.
Thank you :) Your thoughts very illuminating. Yes, I do derive my words from an internal fountain that gushes from my heart to the world of colors within me, rather than outside of me. My relationship with Si is a rather bizarre one, which makes it difficult to pinpoint my type. I am quite horrible with maintaining routines, my memory can be tragically dismal, and I'm not overly attached to traditions, but I am sentimental, and the girl inside of me forever weeps for the past, for the beauty of yesterday. I'm extremely unstructured, but I am internally connected to my sensory scarf of the world. I think that I then am more likely an xSFJ than an xSFP, although I still feel most deeply connected to INFP as a personality type. I find personality so beautiful in how intricately layered it is. Perhaps I don't fit into any specific personality type. But I still feel most gravitated towards INFP, as, while I do find the known beautiful and comforting, I very rarely catastrophize about the unknown and even find it tantalizing. Maybe I'm a strange hybrid of a type. Anyway, I will continue to keep exploring my type-it would be interesting to read writing from the eyes of cognitive functions in different positions. Even then, I'm not quite sure if we could gather clear patterns because there are so many little glimmers and factors that mold the way someone expresses themself.
 

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Thank you :) Your thoughts very illuminating. Yes, I do derive my words from an internal fountain that gushes from my heart to the world of colors within me, rather than outside of me. My relationship with Si is a rather bizarre one, which makes it difficult to pinpoint my type. I am quite horrible with maintaining routines, my memory can be tragically dismal, and I'm not overly attached to traditions, but I am sentimental, and the girl inside of me forever weeps for the past, for the beauty of yesterday. I'm extremely unstructured, but I am internally connected to my sensory scarf of the world. I think that I then am more likely an xSFJ than an xSFP, although I still feel most deeply connected to INFP as a personality type. I find personality so beautiful in how intricately layered it is. Perhaps I don't fit into any specific personality type. But I still feel most gravitated towards INFP, as, while I do find the known beautiful and comforting, I very rarely catastrophize about the unknown and even find it tantalizing. Maybe I'm a strange hybrid of a type. Anyway, I will continue to keep exploring my type-it would be interesting to read writing from the eyes of cognitive functions in different positions. Even then, I'm not quite sure if we could gather clear patterns because there are so many little glimmers and factors that mold the way someone expresses themself.
If you struggle with maintaining routines, you probably don't have strong Si. From what you wrote, it definitely sounds like you have both Si and Ne somewhere in your stack, though. If you feel connected to INFP, it's fine to just sick with that, and keep exploring like you said.
 
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