reading people

Asked recently by a mental health professional about my classes this semester, one question was about the age composition of my new classmates.  Are any of them older, like me?  Each class has about fifteen students, one or two being over thirty or forty years old, aside from myself.  Most recently, for example, sure.  There was this one guy, within ten years or so.  Older, younger, hard to tell exactly.  Especially hard to tell in my case.  Sometimes I consider dying my hair, just to see how much it throws people, but it feels dishonest.

Was this someone I could could see myself relating to, he asked, knowing I have issues relating to people.  First of all, the answer was no, on all different levels.  I was struck by how immediate and automatic my response was, but also wonder about the strangeness of the question.  I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean, in the context of being an adult.  As if we're supposed to outgrow wanting friendship and connection, but I'm not really the beer and football type.

Mostly though, I stumbled over trying to explain how I could discern complete lack of interest in a person I knew absolutely nothing about.  So, I've been looking at different people, thinking about all the information I draw from little more than a moments glance.  An easy example being friendliness, something I think most of us attempt to discern as quickly as possible - this is what a lot that whole smiling business is about.  I'm not great at smiling, nor is it especially important to me in others, but I understand friendliness and why people do it.

There are all sorts of things we gauge from how people express themselves.  It seems unfair, because I try to friendliness.  I'm bad at it, but I keep trying 😬

Mental health issues of all kinds can interfere.  Lots of things can interfere with all of this, but some people can look more aggressive or more compassionate, more interesting or rather less so.  Some can look substantially dumber than others, but I'm not sure how accurate any of this is.  I have no idea how dumb I look to other people.

There's definitely a rapid fire assessment of all these things going on, whether it makes much sense or not.  Everyone reminds me of someone as soon as I meet them, each their own personalized stereotype.  Rough estimates can be practical, but it strikes me as an interesting phenomenon, as I try to figure out what sets me apart, now that I'm surrounded by humans again.

sobering

Something that's always nagged at me regarding addiction and how it's often talked about - underlying causes and all that - not only does this mean that giving up a drug is no solution, but having been free of drugs all along isn't even preventative.  It follows that some "addicts" have never done drugs at all, even.  If the question of whether we have a problem has nothing do with drug use or lack thereof, are we just talking about depression here?  "Just depression," as it were?

There does seem to be a different character to it.  A particular emphasis on escapism.  Gabor Maté says that addictive behavior is the product of trauma, particularly during early childhood.  That is, highly escapist behavior.  Escapist to the point of making terrible choices, just to hold onto whatever the method of escape may be.  The traumatized need their happy place?  Traditionally, the emphasis on addiction has not been about the problem, but the way of coping.  There may be various other ways of coping.

In a sense, this is also in line with the Buddhist concept of craving.  Maté wrote a book titled, Realm of the Hungry Ghosts, and I think all seven realms represent craving.  All of us exist within one of these seven realms, so a lot of it becomes broadly relatable.  Some closer than others.  Maté also claims that the so-called gene for addiction isn't a gene for addiction at all, but for sensitivity.  Whether it blossoms into addiction depends on circumstances and context, not the gene itself.  He sounds a lot like Sapolsky, in that way.

The more I've read about this, the more it's come to look awfully similar to this feeling of being driven to distraction.  An incessant impulse to get the hell away from myself, whether I'm trying to do it with video games and coffee, or cannabis and politics, or just plenty of alcohol.  Some healthy escapism of course being fine.  The problem being the obsessive pattern that develops.  Every waking moment of every day, it is the alternative to enduring.

I've spent my life jumping from one distraction to another.  I stopped for a while, magnificently undistracted, but I knew it wouldn't last.  So far, I've managed to keep crawling onward.  Wish to hell I could figure out how to clear my head like that again.  All the willpower I've been able to muster has only gotten me so far.  I can abstain from whatever seems to be problematic, but what I'm desperate to escape from doesn't go away.  It's more problematic than all of it.