My Pitiful Life As An INTJ

Brooding

I was simply formulating this piece of this story in my mind prior to writing it. Which is typical, and should occur for all writers. It is known as "thinking." A complex, and foreign concept, I'm aware. 

Recently, I have questioned quite a few things in my life.

Romantically; the individuals I am enticed with, and whether I should stop pestering the one I'm currently infatuated with.

Occupationally; whether I genuinely want to be a theoretical astrophysicist.

Friend and Acquaintance wise; whether I genuinely have any friends. Whether I'm with individuals who sincerely care about me, and whether I am even remotely appreciated.

I question these quite frequently, especially regarding the fact that as a misunderstood INTJ, no one comprehends me to the extent where they are familiar with my emotions. 

Far too many convoluted messages from the individual I am infatuated with. They state that they are not allowed to "date," despite the fact that I did not ask them to. Then they state that they are far too young, then it proceeds to I may not want to. Yet despite this, they happen to provide me tips on how to obtain their heart.

Fascinatingly frustrating.

Transitioning to a topic I am far more enticed to delve in to. When I was younger I wished to be a neurosurgeon or a lawyer. This was approximately from fourth grade to sixth. In seventh, astronomy consumed my life to this very point in which I wish to be a theoretical astrophysicist. Yet recently I've questioned that decision as well. 

I wish to make a contribution to this world which will have me noted as a brilliantly intelligent, and complex individual. I want to revolutionize the way we ponder, and perceive this world. 

However, the shocking reality happens to crush me.

Can I?

Would I factually be able to accomplish this?

People refer to me as a "genius," which I disagree with to a massive extent, or "highly intelligent," yet I can not express myself, or discuss such gargantuan dreams of implausible consummations of a discombobulating drive for perpetual triumph. 

My supposed "friends," and "acquaintances," will presumably never understand. They obsess far too much over pointless things, and when I wish to discuss something of minor complexity the topic transitions, or I am ridiculed.

Ah well, 'tis a rant for another bleak day. 

Farewell then.