When you’re an introvert, interacting with others is subject to a clock in your head. At a certain point, a timer gives a gentle chime. “That’s all the time we have,” it says, like a therapist at the end of the fifty minutes.
We can ignore the timer, to a degree, if what we are doing or who we are conversing with is important to us. We pay a price later by having to spend even more recovery time in the social equivalent of the fetal position.
For me, part of my trouble in the past was that I didn’t realize I was an introvert, especially because I can be very interactive at times and don’t fear things like public speaking. I just thought I had bouts of “laziness.” It took me a while to see the pattern of them and understand myself a little better.
I understand now that introversion doesn’t mean what I used to think it meant. It’s not shyness or social awkwardness, although those can sometimes go with it. It has to do with the level of stimulation we can handle and the level of our need to focus within.
Learning to accept myself as an introvert is the same as learning to accept myself as an addict, or a person with mental health issues, or anything else. It’s just what I am, and it has its own advantages and disadvantages. Fairness, or desirability, or how well it fits with my culture and circumstances, is irrelevant.
Lori Lynne Armstrong 
As introvert I can relate to a post such as this one. I often look at my watch which annoys some people. I try not to do it in front of clients, but the clock is always ticking in my mind.
I used to think of myself as an extrovert, but now see myself as an introvert with social skills. Perhaps I’ve changed over the years, as my illness has progressed. Perhaps it’s that peace and stability have become more important than performance and productivity.
This is so me. Exhausting is what spending time with people is. Time’s up for sure.