Sociopathology And Me

[Sigh.  Not much of a post, again.  I just felt like writing about the social side of things.  I guess it's safe to say I am much more optimistic over a physical recovery than I am about re-entering society.  I'm not exactly cheerful to begin with.  The idea of needing to exert so much effort just to make small talk, it's depressing.]

The past two days have been a wake up call on the mental front.  I always knew I was a bit of a sociopath to begin with, and I knew the two really bad years of pain added to it didn't do me any good, but the past two days shed light on just how bad I have become.  I'm pretty much unfit for social interaction.

The odd change is that fear or anxiety has nothing to do with it anymore.  That was my former crutch.

This time it was so much more out of exhaustion then anything else.  I had no desire to interact with anyone, nor could I summon the energy to try.

The jury duty experience was most telling.  An Adderall, a Vicodin, and a morning cup of coffee got me the 35+ miles to the Woodland court house, though the walk from parking to the jury room was difficult.  Once there, crammed in a room with 100 others, I learned just how much space a compulsive subluxing lunatic needs to do his thing, and I did not have it.  It only got worse once we were crammed into a court room for vior dire.  It took nearly 3 hours before I was in front of a judge to show some paperwork about my condition.  I must have looked the part by then.  I was thanked and excused, never needing (or getting) to drop my last work experience bomb on the judge.

It was early on in the jury room, however, where I got my first and only taste of social interaction.  A relatively normal guy asks me if he was parked in the right place (he wasn't), showing me his summons and the map on the back of it (three buildings atop Court St. with 1st Street between the center building and one on the right, College St. between the center building and the left).

"It's this map," the relatively normal guy said.  "I was on Court Street, crossed 3rd, crossed second, then got to first.  Where the hell was College?  This makes no sense."

I shrugged and mumbled that I didn't know, hoping he'd just leave me alone.

I had no idea how to point out that streets tended to have a block on either side of them, and maybe had he gone one more block he would have found College, but I lacked the energy to do so with any tact whatsoever.  I didn't want to be an asshole, but I didn't want to help, either. 

I was struck with guilt, though not over thinking the guy was an imbecile.  I was thinking of the poor schmuck, probably wearing orange, waiting for a jury for his criminal trial.  I was going to be leaving while Lackwit Mapreader was going to be responsible for his fate.

Seriously, go to jury duty, everyone.  Insist your friends do the same.  Someday you may need a jury.  You don't want a dozen dolts holding your future in their hands. 

Then, yesterday, my daughter had a Spring Jazz school performance.  Her TK class singing, "C is for Cookie," which remained in my head the remained of the night.  The TK through 3rd grade performances were the norm for the age.  The wait for the show was, difficult.  I did have company, however, two co-workers of my wife's, which makes up 3 of the 4 adults I have interacted with over the past few years with any regularity (as in more than three times a year), including my wife.  Of course, they knew many other parents while I knew none, nor did I like the prospect of meeting any.

It's simply too tiring.  Within 4 or 5 sentences, the topic of vocation invariably comes up.  I just can't go there.  Why?  To be further misunderstood?  To create another set of eyes to look upon me with pity over my situation?  To be asked if I had gone to a doctor?  It's really unbelievable how many "intelligent" people have asked if I have seen a doctor.  How in the world am I supposed to interact socially when only sarcasm comes to mind, "No, 8 years of pain, two quite severe, gained an inch and a half of height, physical alterations to my skeletal posture, and I never thought of going to a doctor."  The alternative just takes me further down the rabbit hole.

I guess I could make cards with the address to this blog.  I could sit patiently while they read on their phones.  Everyone seems to be on an intimate level their phones, I've noticed.

I have some hope that I'll find the desire to interact if I ever get some resolution to my condition.  I am always physically uncomfortable, so I suppose comfort in a social situation is already hampered to some extent.  I spend so much time, lonely as all hell, only to find people repulse me when I actually get near them.  That can't be good.