(Or, Alternatively, When A Doctor-In-Training Realizes She May Have Sociopathic Tendencies.)
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[What is a blog, in any case? Something about yourself, like an exposition, or a personal experience, or a realization/thought/feeling? That’s probably what it is. I’m not sure if it has to be well-written. I’m sure this entry won’t be, whatever these words end up being.
Now that that requisite moment of self-questioning is out of the way, let me begin.]
— I’ve recently concluded that I may be a sociopath.
Well, that’s reaching! Yes. And a bit too TV-edited sensational. It explains a bit, though, as I understand it.
It goes like this:
Here I am walking along the byways of self-reflection, and look at these brochures!
1) Logic-based conscience
2) A preference for the functional, unequivocal good
3) General disregard for rules
4) An inability to empathize/callousness
And this is how my Self As Sociopath Propaganda goes.
Logic-Based Conscience
I’ve tested as I/E-NT-J/P for a while now. Consistently from second year of college when I was 16 to the present, which is 24. The E/I and J/P were pretty borderline but the NT remained consistent. I remember being INFP in high school but I was 12 and had recently gotten seriously into poetry, and was hopped up on a lot of teenage angst and existential self-doubt, basically trying to find my place and meaning in the Universe. I even once got called “a beautiful soul,” which is frankly astonishing to me at present. Whenever I do examine my self now, with a frequency probably an eighth of what my thirteen-year-old self felt as a daily requirement, I envision a dug-out sea of mud, some industrial-strength steel and an oil-rig. Hardly soulful, and hardly beautiful, either.
But I digress.
The logic-based conscience is basically a list of pros-and-cons and mostly self-preserving impulse. (I think if lived a life more desperate, I would’ve been a con woman.) “Should I do this or not?” I ask myself at times, and rapid fire it goes on-one-hand-I’d-be-skipping-the-lines and then if-I-get-caught-it-would-be-a-hassle and a final I-don’t-want-to-face-legal-action-I-have-work-tomorrow.
This was an honest question I asked myself last night about getting an item from the grocery and just leaving the money on the shelf, and walking out. Probably not even leaving money if I felt more hard-up.
Most of the things I do which requires qualifiers of good/bad, I end up doing based on what is practical, which saves more time, and what makes sense. If I’m having an argument, I don’t feel the need to win it or to prove my point to the other person. I will state my argument, probably listen to yours and deconstruct it, find it lacking (obviously) and say okay, you win, because it ends this exchange and I needed to be doing something else five minutes ago. It usually lets the other person walk away feeling triumphant, and it lets me walk away as soon as possible. Both of us get what we want, obviously (because people so badly want to be justified).
My conceit is always contemptible. Always! And I feel no need to do anything about this. I am aware that pride is ugly and humility is attractive, but I try to wear pride on the lines between my teeth and in Gestalt imagery, it looks just like a normal smile.
Hiding in plain sight/too exaggerated to be true, is how my conceit works.
Functional, Unequivocal Good
I used to have a lot of questions about the good and the bad. Morality, meaning, the shades between nice/kind/good. I think nice and nasty are mutually exclusive, and so are kind and mean, as well as good and bad. Take, for example, the ABCs of Social Psychology. Cognition is Nice or Nasty, Affect is Kind or Mean, and Behavior can be Good or Bad.
This is an arbitrary juxtaposition. But, to demonstrate:
Everyday, I do work as a medical intern in a government hospital in a developing Asian country. On any given day I see a patient dressed and groomed poorly with a chief complaint and a plea for help. A homeless man brings his five-year-old-daughter in, edematous and gasping. She has Dengue Hemorrhagic Fever (Dengue with Warning Signs!) and she’s the third in his brood of eight to get sick with this disease, with the previous two dead already. I think, how unfortunate that you have money to dye your hair but you waited until she’s moribund to bring her to the hospital. I feel absolutely no joy in helping you, you needy, indigent man, or helping your daughter. But when the little girl inevitably codes and I have to do CPR on her, I pump for 10 cycles.
Thoughts, feelings, actions. None of the previous two matter to me so much as the last one, and that is because I think good or bad are essentially behavior or action-dependent. But does that justify it all? I am both nasty and mean. Baseless, nasty thoughts and mean, petty feelings. Then I do what makes sense and what is practical and this, for me, is good. It makes sense to pump her. That’s the whole ACLS protocol. I may hate you, or I might dislike you, or I may have absolutely no regard for you, but this act, in this context, makes sense. Good is as good does.
Then I go to sleep feeling exhausted and relevant! Perfect.
General Disregard For Rules
If it’s there for me to get and no one will miss it, or someone might miss it but there’s no one to call me out on getting it, and if this will save me some effort or some time or some money in the future, then you bet your derriere I’m getting it.
Also, a variant is — just because it is not customary to do so-and-so doesn’t mean I am not doing it. “Keep Off The Grass” is practically calling attention to all the grass around me I can joyfully trod on, “Do Not Disturb” is practically an invitation to knock rudely and anonymously, and anything closed and shut with a lid just begs for prying hands.
I don’t cheat at Monopoly, though, because that’s just disgusting.
An Inability to Empathize
I had a psychology major for my undergrad, and most people think I’m a good listener — or at least I think most people think I’m a good listener. (I am aware that I live in my head.) The problem is, this all comes up as a picture of me being the listening ear/shoulder to cry on when a friend or family member is in need. Most of it is from genuine curiosity — sometimes it is fascinating to understand the intestines of the person’s emotion — but none of it hits me on a soul-deep, heart-wrenching level. You and your problems are your own, you fellow flesh and CHON-moleculed person. Your atoms and my atoms are different. And I feel no need to reorder my universe to fit yours. First, that would take a lot of time, second, a lot of effort, and third, despair/elation makes me wheeze.
— I can think of sad things and cry very easily, though. It makes for such fun reactions from the other party.
But the point is, the emotional overtures, the everyday confessions, the tragic/comedic spectacle of it all never hits me right. In. The. Solar. Plexus. Never. Inside Out is boring. Mufasa dying was monumental because I watched it when I was six and impressionable. I don’t get Lang Leav. Draco Malfoy was a cutie pie. Puppies are cute because of their soft fur and the wagging that shakes with it an entire half of their body and the “cute factor” of having an over-sized head. Same with babies, except more saliva.
— Fine, so none of that was about empathy, but it was about being emotionally permeable, and my point is I am both callous and callus formation.
callous, adj. – not feeling or showing any concern about the problems or suffering of other people.
a : being hardened and thickened
b : feeling or showing no sympathy for others : hard-hearted <a callous indifference to suffering>
(http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/callous)
And,
callus, also spelled callous, in osteology, bony and cartilaginous material forming a connecting bridge across a bone fracture during repair. Within one to two weeks after injury, a provisional callus forms, enveloping the fracture site. (http://www.britannica.com/science/callus-osteology)
Meaning — I understand that what you went through was painful, and that you are in pain, and what would you have me do about it? You have to tell me explicitly in action-words. None? Okay, then can we please move on now. I’m not asking permission. I have no emotional real estate for you to move into at present. Or ever.
(But I understand that displaying that disregard blatantly is a relational faux pas, and I aim to appear invested, genuine and charming. If not that, I also accept being the one “who tells it like it is,” the “devil’s advocate,” “an impartial third party perspective,” or the one who provides “cutting social commentary”. See, there is a place for all of those who have a hard time mustering sympathy! Also I recycle platitudes like a gift card.)
Cute babies and puppies is basically a factual d’aww and being unaffected by them might have caused me self-doubt. But, now I embrace it. (The overlarge head it what gets you, see.)
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In conclusion, throughout my life I have always been not-fascinated by rules and fascinated with rule-breaking because how will they react look at them goooo, but more than that, very, very fascinated with what can I get out of it? This makes me opportunistic at best and manipulative at worst. And you realize, you can get a lot out of many things and events and places and people. I follow a personal code of conduct in which I rationalize things to myself, and if it is sound — well then, fair game. I am capable of love (side note: my love language is words and gifts, as gifts allow you to invest and words allow you to soothe over hurts) and I do not act maliciously toward loved ones. It does not make sense and is not practical and there is no motive. But if I do hurt them unintentionally with my blatant disregard for rules or their rules or their personalities, then the remorse is… Wait, what is that? Remorse, you say? A foreign spice, I see. Slightly stinging on the tongue, but barely there, to be honest.
— So, OK. I’m probably not a sociopath. I’m probably just a selfish, conceited idiot, too hard-headed for admonitions but spineless in my cowardice and too unconfident for actual, committed malice.
That, and I like big words.
The End