I don’t like people. True story.
Sure, I like taking care of people, but, as a whole, I don’t like people. Mostly the issue lies with dealing with the utter bullshit people pull. Sure, there are exceptions to the rule, but they are just that: exceptions. Generally, I like my colleagues and coworkers, and enjoy working with them. But out of uniform, I don’t like them. I like meeting new colleagues, and enjoy hearing their ideas. But, if it’s not EMS related, I tend not to care.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t wish ill on anyone, or want anyone to get injured. But those genuinely ill or injured people are getting fewer and further between. Maybe it’s the years upon years of pretending to take “complaints” of neck pain from a parking-lot fender bender seriously, or maybe is burnout, I don’t know.
I would much rather spend a day at home, alone, than with others. I certainly wouldn’t consider myself a loner, or recluse though. I have friends, mind you, but they are a very small group. 2 of my roughly 10 friends aren’t involved in public safety. And I don’t see them often enough. But at the same time, I see them plenty enough.
It got to the point that a loved one suggest I see a psychiatrist, so I did. Nice enough lady with the fancy diplomas on her wall. She said I exhibited signs of an “avoidant personality disorder.”
“What’s wrong with not liking people?”
“It’s not normal. It’s not supposed to be like that. You should like, and want to be around, people.”
Then she spewed some crap about “normal” relationships, and prescribed me some magic pills that were supposed to make me happy. Even though I’m not unhappy. I told her I wouldn’t fill the prescription, and that she was wasting paper and ink, but she wrote it anyway.
Maybe it’s burnout, maybe I’m tired of putting up with the stupid crap that people do. Maybe it’s normal, and nobody else out there wants to admit it. Maybe, just maybe, I should fill that script for the magic pills, and see if they make me a better person.