Someone else's type isn't something I want to argue about, so instead I'll come clean on my method for you to weigh the credibility of, [MENTION=23222]Arcana[/MENTION]. When I estimate a type for someone, I'm largely comparing the OP to what I know about other people of the possible types for OP who have been consistently sure of their type for a long time and have shown themselves to be clear and well-read thinkers. It's not technical, and I know where it could conceivably go wrong. If someone makes a sharper-defined case for something else in the end that resonates better with OP, they've done a good thing.
Point, though, about something of the 4 that is missing from your answers...how do you relate to the core 4 issue of losing sight of Holy Origin, which comes out in 4 as feeling like one is somehow made of different stuff from other people from a young age, for instance from one's family? Any type has to let go of that core notion to grow past a certain point, but for all the pain it may have caused, there's a will to hold onto it, too, since it's also the premise one's whole sense of life story hinges on. That it isn't true would mean that nothing was what it felt like it was, a hell of a thing to process. Compare 9's relationship with Holy Love, too.
That seems a good way to type someone. I'm not particularly interested in "technical" typings but personal, human opinions.
Regarding the core 4 issue of losing sight of Holy Origin ... uh. I guess it's story time?
Text wall, ahoy!
When my parents got married, my dad's family didn't approve of my mom. They didn't like her and they thought my dad was making a huge mistake by remarrying (he'd been married and had a daughter with his first wife, whom he then divorced and then she died of cancer). It's partly because they don't like outsiders (they've been hostile to all my dad's wives, anyway) and partly because my half sister disliked my mom because she didn't want my dad to marry her. The rest of the family sided with her, egging my dad to pick sides between his child and his new wife.
Then my mom had me ... and because I was an extension of her, they didn't really care much for me either. In fact, I was a useful pawn for them to make my mom miserable. I was a quiet kid and didn't like to talk in front of people so they would call me dumb, told my mom I was "pretty but it's a pity she's so stupid ... has she even learned to talk yet?" and stuff like that. I don't remember it well, to be honest, but I have heard stories ... anyway, that's the background.
Moving on, I have a cousin my age and at the time (ages 3-6), she was my best friend and we were inseparable and would do everything together. Around Christmas, we were invited to a party at an aunt's house. I remember my mom putting me in this blue velvet frock with lace that I really loved and I felt really happy about wearing it and getting to play with my cousin all evening and it was a lot of fun. We ate dinner and it was then time to exchange gifts. Everyone started cooing over my cousin and how pretty and smart and funny she was and they got out a whole bunch of presents, including this huge box and inside it was the most beautiful doll I'd ever seen and it was all for her. And it went on for a while, with the various other kids, and I guess I'd been patiently waiting my turn but I eventually realized that it wasn't going to come at all. They'd cut me out of the whole thing altogether. I burst into tears and sobbed inconsolably for a long time and no one other than my mom made any real attempt to console me. I remember one aunt's expression: she said something like "There there" with this big smug fake smile on her face that made me feel sick.
This is the first genuine memory I have of emotional pain. After my mom took me from the room and comforted me, I sat down, looked over the whole evening and decided two things ... first, that there was something about me that was different and that people didn't like me for it, who even wanted to hurt me for it; and second, that I was under no obligation at all to like or respect cruel people, whether or not they were family. I remember the moment, too, and the cold feeling of clarity I felt settling over me. I dried my eyes, hugged my mom and we went home afterwards.
I don't want to say that this is the moment I became a 4 or anything like that but it was a formative moment for sure. Even later, when I came to know the family history a little better and understand that their treatment of me wasn't motivated by anything intrinsic to me as such, the feeling of difference has never left me. I've also had a lot of positive reinforcement regarding that feeling; my mom's family, my teachers and my friends' parents would call me eccentric, original, independent and different, things like that ... and on the one hand, I'd wonder what it was about me that put me at a distance from the vast seas of normality and on the other, I also recognized that there were a lot of things inside me and my mind that WERE different and that people would never understand.
I don't know about Holy Love. I'm very particular about whom I love and care for because many people are unworthy of those things, and I have no regard, nor have I since I was very young, for the opinions of those I dislike. There were kids who tried to bully me in school but I'd already toughened up in that regard so after a couple of futile attempts to bait me into reacting, they pretty much left me alone. And I was proud of it.