The Unstable Quadrants of INFP Agression

I read on one MBTI website that INFPs are either non-confrontational or moody and extremely explosive. I'm not sure I quite agree. Not that the website was bad! It was great. I love the posts, you're awesome, bless you, I appreciate your contributions, make no amends; I don't mean to insult. Well, see, INFPs as I observe them have several levels of anger, which I like to separate into quadrants:

So, as you can see, these four quadrants are derives from a combination of two variable statuses: subtle vs dramatic, and anger vs annoyance. These are the traits of, respectively, "expression" and "emotion". Of course, there are many other categories and contributing factors, but this table represents INFP confrontational styles at their simplest. Allow me to expand upon the characteristics of each of these various factions:




The Turtle-- This state usually occurs when there is a conflict of values or the INFP is in hurt as a result of someone's actions. It arises when the aforementioned (passivist) INFP does not want to cause hurtful contention, tarnish an emotional bond, delve into the stress of a confrontation, wound feelings, or simply believes for some moral reason that getting upset in the given situation makes them a bad person. However, like a pressurized canister of natural gas (I'm sorry, I'm bad with similes), when the offenses are repeated, the INFP may transition into State 2: The Great Pompeii.

Examples of the Turtle in its natural habitat:

• Ex. Johanna (INFP) sees a coworker post something utterly moronic on Facebook that directly clashes with her personal values (ie. a video of Muslims being beaten because of their faith along with a comment that such actions are, in the eyes of aforementioned coworker, morally upright). She's deeply offended, but decides not to respond because doing so would only create a meaningless conflict that would not serve to any actual purpose, let alone it would not alter his views. She's still lowkey upset, though, so later when someone so much as mentions that coworker's name she'll burst into tears for no apparent reason.
• Jonathan (ISTP) repeatedly does something that emotionally hurts his girlfriend, Mariah (INFP). However, she values him and cares for him deeply, and doesn't want to hurt his feelings by confronting the issue. Instead, she masks her pain by doting on him all the more and pretending to be excessively happy. Eventually, if the behavior isn't curbed, she'll snap and reevaluate the entire relationship based solely on the fact that he refuses to watch Gossip Girls with her.

The Great Pompeii-- Your mostly friendly INFP is no longer charitable. Instead, they are a seething, writhing, molten stew of pure, unadulterated rage. Given that the INFP's main tactical weapon is "fury cuddling", you may be tempted to brush off their anger as little more than an adorable bout of frustration. Don't. I'm not quite sure what you did to deserve this, but oh man, get that will written out. INFPs usually only reach this state when they're exhausted, under intense stress, physically strained, or you've just plain stepped on them for too long. They were probably The Turtle first, but you just didn't notice. What you didn't realize, then, was that this was a snapping turtle.
Thankfully, unlike that of St. Helens, Pelee, Tambora, or the catastrophic Vesuvius itself, this explosion is short-lived. Usually. INFPs are those to forgive the moment you (genuinely) apologize, but beware-- unless you really mend their hurting heart, they're really just back in the shell of their turtle stage. Unfortunately, for the idealistic, dreamy INFPs, these kind of explosions occur most often not with those truly deserving, but with those they are closest to and hope the most of. If this "repeated offense" thing continues for long enough, you'll reach the "door slam"-- suddenly, without warning, you're locked out of their life for good. There's no empathy left to aid in your return. And since INFPs have a flair for sounding like they're out of a moody Ed Sheeran song, it was probably via poem. This usually only occurs if you're an awful person who has hurt someone they love. 

Field research on the Great Pompeii:

• Ex. Margaret (INFP) has a friend who has repeatedly antagonized her family members and refuses to apologize, thinking that Margaret is just being too uptight and sensitive to appreciate the humor in it. Margaret has been guilty any time this friend, Royse, comes over, and the next time her autistic brother is casually insulted, she explodes and demands that Royse leave since she's a brat who can find nothing better to do than antagonize others. That's it. Royse may eventually have a chance at redemption, but until then, she'll find that the once affectionate Margaret no longer responds to any of her calls or messages.
• Ex. It's been a long day, and Reuben (INFP) literally cannot handle so much as a single additional ounce of stress, So, when he returns home only to have his wife, Lauren (ESFJ), yell at him for tracking in his muddy boots, it's all he can do to collapse into tears and possibly scream that he needs some alone time. Is this an acceptable response? No. But I certainly understand the why, even though I also know that he'll feel absolutely awful about the incident later.

The Sherlock-- Annoy an INFP that possesses a solid intuitive function, and they may just brush you off with some amused sarcasm or a subtle hint of laughter that clearly communicates the message of, "You're cute when you're annoying". This state usually occurs when they're transitioning from one of the other 3 States into normal, but still feel the need to vent in a way that is productive in the sense of, "If you can say it with humor, you're not technically upset". On the other hand, however, this state may be the result of a lack of affection or attention, and the INFP is then simply trying to make themselves feel appreciated by the resulting laughter. In this scenario, what they really need is friendship (a listening ear to the real, underlying issue) and maybe something warm to cuddle. An INFP in the latter of these circumstances, in a bid for attention, may override their usual sense of moral correctness to achieve a sense of belonging in the community. This can result in them defying their normal behavior, even seeming callous towards others. Once they realize just how insensitive they have been, prepare for entry (or exit) of the new social hermit. And a lot of crying.

Since this State is the subtle-annoyance, it also includes reactions to inanimate objects (which can be quite dramatic, actually). Therefore this pertains to all bizarre INFP actions such as "gettin' real mad at the sky because it's got the wrong kind of clouds and interfered with their artistic vision for the day" or "aggressively insulting the table they just stubbed their foot on" or even "holding a puppet conversation between two angry oven mitts". Don't worry about it. The INFP may be having a bad day, but this is a recovery tactic. They need you to laugh and tell them they're appreciated (or, you know, yell at the sky with them).

For an example here, I'll give a personal experience, since this seems to be my very favorite quadrant to dwell in. The other day, I encountered a complete stranger over a group chat I was unexpectedly stuffed into. He was an acquaintance of some distanced acquaintances-- I'm not the kind of person who intrinsically seeks to befriend every human on earth, even though I'll engage in the usual niceties. Even with my closest friends, I don't message or call much-- I prefer one-on-one, physically present interaction. I embody this kind of philosophy of, "If you aren't geographically close enough to cry on my shoulder, please don't talk to me", which is spontaneously expelled every time I make a new online friend (for about two days, until I need recovery from the outrageous time I spent talking).
A lot of people assume that I will be cordial and accommodating and adjust to their schedules to always message back. Okay. They're right, unfortunately, but my desire to please my friends is one reason I despair entering any additional friendships, especially that don't come naturally (offline encounter). It's not that I dislike people, it's that I dislike how much I like people. Often it feels like most of the people who call themselves my friends only see me as their personal counselor; emerging only to seek my counsel with their latest issue, retreating whenever I need a shoulder to lean on. This often comes from me seeming to not be able to enter a friendship normally, using tactics such as engaging in enthusiastic conversation or bonding over mutual interests. No, I apparently prefer to jump right to the stage of, "tell me all your life problems", which invariably results in me feeling like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I've had someone I knew for about thirty minutes say, "You're the psychiatrist, tell me what's wrong". Just a little PSA-- I don't have a medical degree and cannot provide an accurate diagnosis. But, in all honesty, it's not you, it's me. Within ten minutes of meeting you, I will be a helpless doormat. And honestly, that's one pattern I can't seem to curb.
My awkward attempt at casual introduction to friendships is impeded only by my desire to demonstrate that I can be, in fact, an interesting person. Sometimes. Unfortunately, this usually comes across as me being a glorified intellectual diva (ie. Sherlock, basically). This is exactly what happened when I was in that group chat and said stranger commented, "We can be friends everyone else can suck it :)".
Well. Even though I knew he was joking, I was overcome by this sudden surge of worry that my almost acquaintances would feel hurt if I didn't defend them-- which, they wouldn't, but hey, like my heart cares for the facts.
Do you want to know how I responded? Can you guess??

Looking back on it, that seems a little insensitive. Oops.

The Passive-Aggressive Freak-- Exactly what it sounds like. This INFP acts accordingly to the exact stereotype of this phrase. How do I best explain this? Well, let's start with this-- a few Wednesdays ago, Cody decided to spoil me with strawberry shortcake and chocolate, an act that has far more profound meaning within the context of our relationship (my highest love language, gifts, is also his lowest. C'est la vie). Promptly afterwards, however, I fell ill. Ill as in, "There's a flaming porcupine in my sinuses and I probably drank arsenic judging by the condition of my throat". I also had a pounding migraine, due to the sinus issue, and was really grouchy.

The one thing motivating me not to curl up and die was that box of chocolates, which I told myself I could finally eat once I got better.

Did I tell y'all that Cody is the best person to have around when you're sick? He's a classic example of A-Level 'Doter'. Although, he does get a bit worked up with his melaleuca oil.

But I like that about him.

Anyways, back to the chocolate. I want you to picture yourself right now in miserable agony. Your back and neck are so sore that they're effectively frozen into place, there's a new episode of runny nose every minute, your sinus headache throbs down to your clenched teeth, you constantly feel like you're about to sneeze and when you do you start involuntarily crying (but only in your right eye, profusely, for who knows what reason). Factor in that your face is puffy and red, and your eyes are swollen shut, and that you're too nauseous to eat, and the fact that a stupid sniffles/sinus migraine combo had kept you nigh-sleepless for several nights in a row.You're resting on a stiff mattress in the middle of the living room because your bedroom is under renovation and therefore off-limits; so every time you start to get remotely sufficient sleep, someone stomps in and wakes you up, into a fit of mucus and migraine. My one consolation is that I'm not a starving child in Africa or a Syrian refugee. Such things keep me from complaining too much or doing too little.

It's still not fun. 

Now, imagine that in your  warped state of sickly consciousness that you have attached your sole hope of survival, don't question why, to the future of eating chocolates you're saving to savor just the moment you feel better. You stumble over to the candy drawer in a fixed haze, hoping to provide yourself with a flicker of strength before you succumb to the imminent embrace of death, clinging on to what little life remains within you through the prospect of delicate, rich, delectable sweetness; in this moment, just believing that you can hold on to your last breaths simply by running your fingers along the folds of plastic wrapping that line the box in this thin veneer of situational casualty.

But it's gone. The plastic wrapping is gone and in its place is the sheer, unadulterated betrayal of a nearly empty chocolate box. Who could do such a thing to a poor, defenseless, innocent (never mind), sickly, wilting soul?!

Your existence is crushed under the boot of the heartless. The light is fading. You feel yourself slipping into the inevitable abyss of the afterlife. But, by strength of pure will, one last saving wind overcomes you. It is a thirst for vengeance. You must know who has betrayed you in this heartless manner. It's like CSI, because you're uncovering a bloody psychopath.

So you limp down the hall in a feeble march, consoling yourself only with a righteous vindication. Winter is coming. You are wolf, befriended or broken, but never tamed. The blood of the martyrs is in your veins, and tonight you will seek their vengeance. Thus is a storm-- you are the storm.

If this sounds awfully dramatic to you, that's because it is. It's also because you aren't me, and so you aren't nearly as mentally deranged or obsessively fixated on a set course of events, occurring only in your mind. No, you aren't me. But you must understand the primal force of emotion that prompted me to what I did next. 

The conversation went much like this.

I was boiling. I was in the smoldering rage of a bloated hippopotamus when an egocentric gazelle tramples onto its territory and eATS ITS GOSHDARN MARSH GRASSES!! Not only had Olivia ravenously devoured my one hope in the world, but she had brazenly refused to offer a genuine apology for such a heinous act.

A strange thing occurs in my psyche when I become intensely inflamed. I always brood about it, but only rarely do I confront the actual problem. Oftentimes, this leaves others to guess what the matter is, on pain of death.

It turns out that when I'm sick and get grouchy, I start sneezing a lot. A lot. I stumble through the warped presence of the world in an unformed blur of the most irksome tickling, burning sensation. I also lose my last measure of what can be called "sanity". I become a creature solely bent on justice... and, somehow, keeping the harmony. It's like Javert mixed with Fluttershy, which is nothing other than a beast of nightmares.

When I'm frenzied and inconsolable, my thought process is this: "Their inability to apologize demonstrates the current, darkened nature of their character which is no doubt detrimental to the well-being of their soul. I must bring them to see the unkindness in their actions, so that in remorse they will be healed to a better self and spread love and joy forevermore." No, I'm not usually like this. Keep in mind that I was sleep deprived, reduced to my underlying state of perpetual idealistic altruism, and very upset about the chocolates.

With that, follow me on this psychotic journey as I send the following email to my mom. [Note: it doesn't start with "Dear Mom" or "Hello" or even "Greetings, maternal parental unit". There's not even a subject line. I just launch right in to hysterics.]

Olivia ate my (unopened) box of chocolates from Cody and then didn't even apologize, because apparently it was my fault, since I should have put them somewhere other than the candy drawer. Even though she knew they were mine. Even though they were still wrapped in the original plastic packaging, untampered with.

I was hoping to eat those once I got better and was really excited about it, and now I'm pretty upset ... She acted like it was my fault, and that if I didn't want her to eat them then I should have kept them in another place. Even if I made an instructive PowerPoint dedicated entirely to the subject of "These Chocolates Were a Gift and They Are Mine, Do Not Eat Them", she would have conveniently forgotten, and eaten them. I wouldn't have cared so much if I had bought them, but they were a very sweet gift that meant a lot to me. Allow me to reiterate: The chocolates were 100% mine, and now they are 100% in her stomach.

Additionally, I was less upset before I talked to my sisters about it. And, by the way, I didn't stomp in screeching like an untamed velociraptor with an acute hemoglobin deficiency, in a way that might warrant a blatant lack of apology. No, I calmly asked them (without an air of sarcasm) if they knew what my box of chocolates looked like, and if they had eaten from it. Olivia simply raised her hand and told me that I shouldn't have left it in the community candy drawer if I didn't want her to eat it, since I see we are now operating under the principles of Socialism, never mind that she knew all that I have stated in the above [about it being all mine, and also unopened.] I would also be far less upset if she could be persuaded under any circumstances to utter the phrase "I'm sorry", even if disingenuously. 

No, I didn't yell at her, though my internal vocal prowess was that of an amplifier hooked up to a jet engine. I said, as I have already ascertained in the above and will do so again for clarifying purposes, "It was unopened, and you knew it was a gift. It was really important to me and I was looking forward to eating those." She shrugged. I just walked out before I discovered my psychic powers of spontaneous combustion.

Olivia's only decent comment throughout this ordeal has been the statement "This song sucks", pertaining to "Watcha Say", which was throughout that time playing on Jackie's Pandora and significantly worsening my migraine.

I vote for a movement of confinement to her room while we play awful Jason Derulo music while making her eat/look at pictures of disgustingly massive quantities of chocolate, insomuch that she learns to associate the agonizing sound of his squeaking falsetto whimpers with candy, which will then cause her to develop a very specific mental disorder in which she conveniently avoids consuming my chocolate. Preferably with the same zeal she now employs to defend her current actions of eating said chocolate, though hopefully with a tad less complacency. This is a very Jung-ish [sic], Freudian, or Pavlovian approach, but I think it will do quite nicely. I'm setting up a slide of pictures right now; or, perhaps, we can force her to eat the rest of the chocolate, thereby procuring an amount of guilt that can no longer be veiled by her distinct air of not caring whatsoever/being a selfish, indulgent turkey. Or, we can coerce her to eat copious amounts of chocolate until she vomits, thereby forming a psychological/physiological connection which causes her to throw up every time she eats so much as a single chocolate chip.

Thank you for your time,

Julia

Of course, such diabolical schemes only serve to purpose inspiration for one's more pragmatic (although still vengeant) actions. I began to search for a more practical, gentle mode of revenge. So, let me ask you this: What do all methods of torture invoke? The absence of and craving for comfort. Being dragged through a beehive is a very noticeable lack of comfort. So is being stuffed inside the burning, sadistic stomach of a Sicilian Bull (I know this because of a two hour documentary I watched on the subject, though I assume it's quite obvious to any viewer or unlucky participant).
I'm not fond of the idea of implementing Medieval torture tactics on my little sister, not in the slightest, but there is an underlying philosophy. And with that, I decided to do the most evil thing I have ever schemed up.

I was going to bake, and she couldn't eat anything.

It was wholly passive-aggressive, the most truly wicked act of my entire existence. I knew this in my cold little heart as I searched for recipes, conjured up ingredients, placed them just so in the hellish inferno of the oven; all without a twinge of guilt. These avocado fries were mine. All mine. And I would make her watch in searing agony as I enjoyed them to the fullest extent.

At this moment, Olivia entered.

My cold little coal lump of a heart melted. Or compacted, if you will, into a diamond. My obliviously sweet, caring little sister had walked unknowingly into the teeth of my trap, only to apologize, with tiny tears forming in her eyes.
I ask you, how could I be upset?
I kissed her forehead, smiled, and together we ate those delicious fries.