Panasonic RP-HTX7

       I believe that my introversion stems from my extreme shyness as a child. I was (and still am) quite the mama's boy, and would always hide be hind her and cover my face in her dress to hide from new people when I was a toddler. In a small way, this tactic remains, and that is the hiding. The if-I-can't-see-you-you can't-see-me defense. Only now-a-days, it's "if I can't hear you". You see, I use my headphones as a metaphorical security blanket. They hide me from the things that scare me (talking to new people, or about things that bother me). I noticed it in my Junior year. Instead of facing the emotional struggles I was having, I hid from them. I had had the same pair of Panasonic headphones for 3 years, and I knew I listened to them a lot, but it took a while for me to realize it wasn't just because I love music, it was because if I couldn't hear people, it was an excuse for me to not interact with them. This included people I didn't know because I, for some twisted reason, am afraid to meet strangers or make new friends, people I didn't know well enough to know whether it would be socially acceptable to greet them or if I would get a weird look...and most importantly, when I was sad, or bothered, or angry, I could close my eyes, put on my headphones, press play, and pretend that neither the problems I had nor the people who legitimately wanted to help me with them were there so I could both avoid taking responsibility for myself, and avoid bringing my friends into my mind--two of my very favorite things to do. And let me tell ya, it's sure hard to think of anything when you have music coursing through your veins. That's why this worked for me in the first place. When you listen to music, you stop thinking about your problems. Even if you're listening to a song way sadder than your problems, they're still not YOUR problems. It's an escape, and I'm nothing if not an escapist. When those were falling apart, and smelled like vinegar, which is a very long story, and only one ear worked, and I was about to take a 6 hour flight to Hawaii, I knew I needed a new pair to make the plane ride bearable. Nobody understood why I damn near had a panic attack when I couldn't find those exact same headphones anywhere. They thought I was being totally unreasonable, and because I never explained that it was more than just a pair of headphones, I completely understand their point of view. But the first night there, I felt terribly home-sick, and the only reason I slept that night was because I put my Panasonic RP-HTX7 headphones around my neck. They made me feel like I was right in my own room.

Cohabitation

       "So! I type a text to a girl I used to see", Andre 3000 sings out as I feel a vibrating against my leg. I reach for my phone, pull it out, and get stricken with apathy. The name that appears in my hand may be one of my best friends, but my desire to slide the bar, speak a greeting, and excuse myself from social interaction is not present. You see, I am rather introverted. In most cases, unless I know it's important or I really feel like seeing someone, I will not answer my phone. When it comes to socializing, I like to keep it small. If I spend the day with a friend, I will likely not talk to anybody for days after. I require a recharging period, otherwise, I feel just exhausted. A few weeks ago I had 3 straight days of sleeping at other people's houses, and running around town with different friends, and by the time it was done, I shut down. My friends thought I was dead because I didn't respond to anything for a week. I love my friends, and I can't live without them, but I value my time alone above most other things in life. I enjoy having time to reflect on my thoughts and persue my hobbies without the looming threat of having to come up with proper responses to conversational stimuli. While small groups of people for a few hours at the time are dandy, anything further mentally drains me.



       Now that I've thoroughly lined out how much of a basket case I am, I can get to my actual point. Recently, a large change came into my life. One that scared me at first. My very close friend Sam suffers from temper problems, and his mother suffers from manic depression. As one would guess, they have very heated and escelated arguments. For a few weeks, it was getting worse every day, and on top of it they were going to move very soon. At one point I jokingly offered my floor for him to stay on. At the time, I had no idea that a week later, Sam would be on my doorstep, practically in tears, begging me to help him. And I couldn't. I'm sure I didn't demonstrate this clearly enough previously, but being loyal to my friends is something I take much pride in. When a friend is in need, I will d anything and everything I can to help them. So I couldn't refuse. Over the next week, he slowly gathered his belongings and we made a bed for him on my floor.


     
    I'm sure you can only guess what was running through my head at this point in time. I was sharing my room. I couldn't go 12 hours with someone before I needed to be alone. I thought surely that I would drive myself mad. But, though this is a debatable statement; I never lost my sanity. I never got tired of being around him. I still haven't, as he sits in my peripheral vision while I type this to you now. Cohabitation has proven itself to be an entirely new animal. I never feel the need to be alone anymore. In fact, sometimes I even feel lonely, as if there ISN'T another person there at all. Of course I still try to avoid adding people to our party, I no longer feel the need to refuel my tolerance of socialization. Since it happened, I feel like more of an adult. I do more chores, try to keep the room clean, am far more desperate for a job, and feel generally more responsible. I can tell that a new chapter is opening in my life, and I can't wait to turn the page.