So, since we've been on the subject of catch phrases, let's examine another one. I admit that I throw this one around quite casually:
"I don't play well with others."
Now, some people will wear this on a T-shirt, and think it's clever or funny, and usually the person wearing the shirt is neither clever, nor funny, and not someone I would wish to play with to begin with. In fact, I would most often like to punch them right in their smarmy faces. Not that I'm that violent. I mean, if I went around punching everyone who annoyed me, I'd be sitting in a little white room somewhere.
When I say that I don't play well with others, I am referring to the fact that I am an introvert. In terms of participating in shenanigans with other humans, there are several factors that must be taken into consideration, including, but not limited to:
- What "others" we are talking about
- How many "others" are involved
- How long I am expected to "play" with these "others"
- Whether or not "playing well with others" is a requirement
- How much coffee I've had, how many cigarettes I have left, and whether I brought my clonazepam with me.
I have no trouble with public speaking. I enjoy contributing ideas in formal settings. In bye-gone days, I was quite the spotlight hog. I am extremely talkative once you get me going on a subject that interests me. (Whether it interests you is inconsequential. I will do my best to make it interest you, and if you aren't interested, I ignore you. This really only happens on the Internet.)
I write copiously about my mental processes, how I view the world, my spirituality, my perception of my current position in life, and the pain of my past. People perceive me as very trustworthy. For some reason, I am often privy to things that no one else knows. It's a talent of mine, I suppose. Total strangers tell me things they have never told anyone. I suppose it's because, at this point, I am nigh un-shockable. I have even had a man confess to me a murder. I did not turn him in. For all I know, he could have been schizophrenic, and the incident in question never happened at all. People tell me the damndest things at bus stops...
Yet, for all this, I am a ravening introvert. A while back, I found a fantastic illustration of what this means. I'm posting it here for posterity.
It may seem paradoxical, but I've known quite a few people who fall into this category of "extroverted introverts," with a bit of ADD and hypomania tossed into the mix. And I'll tell you a secret: No matter how animated I become, or how fast I talk, my mind is operating at at least twice the observable speed. Sometimes there is simply too much I want to express, and not enough time in which to do it. I often wish I could simply link my mind with the people people I'm talking to, so we did not have to be burdened with the tedium of language. This leads to a deficit in terms of information I wish to exchange and the capacity to exchange it in a limited space of time, which, in turn, leads to anxiety, until the point at which I drift away from the group and sit by myself. I go back to my safe place. I sink into my own thoughts, work out problems, play games, or write long, narcissistic entries like this, to be read to my therapist at a later date.
I'm actually a raging Aspie, but I'm so damned good at faking it, no one can tell. Usually.
I worry sometimes that people read my behaviour as odd at best, snobby or cruel at worst. I don't mean to be, I honestly don't. I don't know if this is something I can really change, or that I want to change. This is why jobs that involve dealing with human beings all day long are so draining for me. Is it arrogant of me to say that I feel that 90% of the people I meet doing a retail job are inconsiderate, privileged, ignorant morons? I have so little tolerance for it that one eight-hour shift at a customer service position leaves me feeling like I need a stiff drink. And I don't drink. Much. Except if it's mead. And it's sulfite-free.
I think I've drifted off-topic here, but it's some stuff, anyway. Needed to get it off my chest.
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