u/Sufficient-Gain-226

I recently took another MBTI test and scored ENTP 83, INTP 68, and INTJ 63. I've also been reading about the cognitive functions. I'm less interested in being "typed" and more interested in understanding the practical differences. What made you realize you were an ENTP rather than an INTP?

One beautiful day, I went for a walk along my local beach. As I reached the waterfront, I looked out at the same beautiful horizon I'd been seeing since I was a kid.

While I was taking it all in, I heard what sounded like an injured seal.

I turned to the man standing next to me and asked, "What is that sound?"

He looked behind him and said, "That'd be my son."

His son was disabled.

I immediately apologized. Thankfully, we both laughed, and it ended on a good note. It was a humbling moment that still makes me wonder if I handled it the right way, but also It reminded me that we rarely know what's happening in other people's lives. A simple walk turned into a lesson I'll probably remember for a long time.

One beautiful day, I went for a walk along my local beach. As I reached the waterfront, I looked out at the same beautiful horizon I'd been seeing since I was a kid.

While I was taking it all in, I heard what sounded like a seal—or maybe some sort of dying animal.

I turned to the man standing next to me and asked, "What is that sound?"

He looked behind him and said, "That'd be my son."

His son was disabled.

I immediately apologized. Thankfully, we both laughed, and it ended on a good note. It was a humbling moment that still makes me wonder if I handled it the right way, but it definitely taught me something. 😅

Sometimes people on this sub seem to boil ENTP down to, "My logic is tremendously strong 🤓." But they don't really describe the broader MBTI characteristics—they just identify with being good at debating. Do you think that's an accurate use of the type, or has "ENTP" become an identity for some people?

I grew up constantly watching YouTube, Netflix, anime, and playing games. Looking back, I think it became a way to avoid life rather than engage with it. During COVID it got even worse—I could spend entire days online and eventually felt like I forgot how to interact with people.

Now I'm trying to spend more time in the real world, but it feels much harder than I expected. Has anyone else felt like they were raised by the internet and is now trying to reconnect with real life? What actually helped?

Time Trials, Jung

Jung took a bone pit of people

and then threw them on the shore.

They saw everything,

but they just snored.

Everyone knows the doormat in the face,

everybody showed the door ring on the doorbell

of our own way, of our own bell,

on the belt to the universe—

like Jupiter had no Mars,

like Uranus had no Venus,

like Earth had no Sun.

I wished that everything deathly

would be just one—

but that didn’t make sense

when we asked the question for two.

When we asked,

blue became red,

the sun became new,

and then the universe stopped.

We all saw

that Jung was not the rock

we saw on the moon.

Everything came back—

and we said,

I’m just going to be blue too.

So we look back at it,

and then we fiend for the find.

We find it was all part of the rhyme

all the time.

Hey—

just have some time.

A rest.

Seams fight for their fatness.

We wonder what makes us stop.

A guess.

Will the break the backrest, with rode of moral mishap?

The lie was told, but did it trade for outcomes without the present's alignment?

The cry I sold, the discount was the pain before; the dream of one.

That dream drove of sought, but hold perspective of one.

So much will it stare at the sun.

The pain—

it made me want to run, so I could have fun.

So I chose to lie and dance to the sound of a gun.

And then the rain arose from the choices that I say I chose, but the brazen one knows the flow will never not wonder of the rest.

So the rain pooled.

The man, fooled.

And the hand held.

But when does the one who runs reels of which in the pain I feel?

We want, we choose, we believe.

Value and wonder

turn death to leisure.

In that, life is death.

The show will reveal.

A rest.

Seams fight for their fatness.

We wonder what makes us stop.

A guess.

Will the break the backrest, with rode of moral mishap?

The lie was told, but did it trade for outcomes without the present's alignment?

The cry I sold, the discount was the pain before; the dream of one.

That dream drove of sought, but hold perspective of one.

So much will it stare at the sun.

The pain—

it made me want to run, so I could have fun.

So I chose to lie and dance to the sound of a gun.

And then the rain arose from the choices that I say I chose, but the brazen one knows the flow will never not wonder of the rest.

So the rain pooled.

The man, fooled.

And the hand held.

But when does the one who runs reels of which in the pain I feel?

We want, we choose, we believe.

Value and wonder

turn death to leisure.

In that, life is death.

The show will reveal.

Piles mean races.

Weight lashes braces.

Doors open pacing.

The light's mind is racing.

Flow for the god's embracing.

My mind is not alive.

You don't want to see

with the hung eye

of the one that lies.

So you pile up the truth,

so you vomit in the light.

And you wanted something else,

so you flew up with the kite.

But hope,

no belief,

strength.

The death of the love.

Mindless money.

But what about the motive?

Pimple popping,

big Bugatti,

bacon for breakfast.

Beautiful,

big,

brimming beauty brought upon

the devil

and the lord.

I need to drop the apple.

All that wreck,

I wrecked the beach.

The beach told me the balls

were not gonna be flated.

Insuffolate the powder and trot.

Average out your mind.

Embrace the find.

Indescribable feeling—

untouching your feeling.

I wish the beetle

undid the weeds on the pine.

The vines unsuffolate the serpent—

it comes back with the demons,

under the hells.

As it unearthed your seams

It suffers the rhythm that rhymes through realms.

undiscovered,

with unhappiness in the water.

The mirror looks back.

The pondering reef looks at you.

You look into the mirror—

everything halts,

and the belongingess all fear. Outerspace

Mace outruns the race

The face undoes the chase

And then you say, hey, what a hook.

You could unearth the unearthly look.

Alpine understanding in the vulture’s eye,

swept under rug.

Paterpeterponderrappleleaf.

I got you under the seams

of an unearthly looking dream.

Binge watch it.

Understand my entourages.

Cock-a-doodle-do awaken on your sphere.

Big on shadows, drawing near.

A lovely, lasting question: fear

I wish you would see the past,

the pile that unearthed the real.

Unearthed your eel.

Unearthed the bile

that unearthed your smile.

I grew up constantly watching YouTube, Netflix, anime, and playing games. Looking back, I think it became a way to avoid life rather than engage with it. During COVID it got even worse—I could spend entire days online and eventually felt like I forgot how to interact with people.

Now I'm trying to spend more time in the real world, but it feels much harder than I expected. Has anyone else felt like they were raised by the internet and is now trying to reconnect with real life? What actually helped?

​

Jung took a bone pit of people

and then threw them on the shore.

They saw everything,

but they just snored.

Everyone knows the doormat in the face,

everybody showed the door ring on the doorbell

of our own way, of our own bell,

on the belt to the universe—

like Jupiter had no Mars,

like Uranus had no Venus,

like Earth had no Sun.

I wished that everything deathly

would be just one—

but that didn’t make sense

when we asked the question for two.

When we asked,

blue became red,

the sun became new,

and then the universe stopped.

We all saw

that Jung was not the rock

we saw on the moon.

Everything came back—

and we said,

I’m just going to be blue too.

So we look back at it,

and then we fiend for the find.

We find it was all part of the rhyme

all the time.

Hey—

just have some time.

There are no legal, social, or personal consequences. Nobody remembers what you did, and nothing comes back to affect you. What, if anything, would stop you from doing whatever you wanted?

DPDR made me feel like I had no sense of self. Now I'm starting to think it's almost the opposite. Maybe my sense of self was never gone—it was just attached to abstract ideas instead of everyday life.

I've noticed I feel better when I stop trying to reach some ultimate conclusion about reality and instead just acknowledge what's in front of me. A conversation, something funny, something I noticed on the news, whatever it is.

I'm starting to think recovery isn't about solving reality. It's about making something feel real again by participating in it, even if it doesn't immediately line up with what my mind thinks should happen.

Has anyone else had that shift?

DPDR made me think I had no sense of self. Now I'm starting to think it's almost the opposite. Maybe my sense of self was never gone—it was just attached to abstract ideas instead of everyday life.

I've noticed I feel better when I stop trying to reach some ultimate conclusion about reality and instead just acknowledge what's in front of me. A conversation, something funny, something I noticed on the news, whatever it is.

I'm starting to think recovery isn't about solving reality. It's about making something feel real again by participating in it, even if it doesn't immediately line up with what my mind thinks should happen.

Has anyone else had that shift?

​

If I flow, then everything has worth.

If I flow, then everything under the skirt

saw something hidden under the blue,

saw everything in me that I saw in you.

Everything else, everything new,

came from despair.

And everything good came from nothing but a hare.

You go into the world where the hare came from,

it shows you the signs,

but you see nothing.

I see you with two eyes, and I wonder —

why do I wander?