Down the Rabbit Hole

I just took this test to determine for which personality disorders I am at risk. It is not, obviously, a true diagnostic tool, but I throroughly enjoy that sort of thing, so I took it. I came out pretty well adjusted on all scales except for a moderate risk of being Schizotypal:

"Many believe that schizotypal personality disorder represents mild schizophrenia. The disorder is characterized by odd forms of thinking and perceiving, and individuals with this disorder often seek isolation from others. They sometimes believe to have extra sensory ability or that unrelated events relate to them in some important way. They generally engage in eccentric behavior and have difficulty concentrating for long periods of time. Their speech is often over elaborate and difficult to follow."

Raise your hand, anybody who's surprised.

I do not, of course, have Schizotypal Personality Disorder. Moreover, I do not believe in personality disorders. (The Psych minor rears its ugly head. If anybody's curious, I tend to agree with the cognitive school and take an approach grounded in family systems theory.)

The standard for diagnosing mental illness is a book called the DSM-IV. For each illness, there is an entry in the book which consists of a description and a numbered list of common symptoms. I have very mixed feelings about the ethical ramifications of such standards, but at the same time, it provides a common thread from which therapists can branch. (Whether this creates false confidence and an erronious belief that psychology is a hard science (due to the enforced internal consistency) is an argument for another time.)

Most psychological disorders are listed in a section known as "Axis I." This is where you'll find Schizophrenia, Depression, Multiple Personality Disorder, Anorexia . . . all the old favorites. The causes of and possible solutions to these problems are hotly debated among the theraputic communities.

The ten personality disorders, however, fall on a different axis, Axis II. They are thought of as both more and less serious than Axis I disorders; they're ordinarily not as damaging to the person who has them, and can pass permanently unnoticed. On the other hand, they never go away. They are thought of as incurable, an inherent part of who you are.

Because of this, very few psychologists are willing to work with people who have personality disorders. It's considered too draining. It's triage - they help the people they might be able to save, rather then these damned. Moreover, personality disorders, especially Antisocial Personailty Disorder, are often used to justify the death penalty (something to which I'm strongly opposed) - if we can't cure them, we might as well kill them.

If you read the descriptions of personality disorders in the DSM-IV or at Internet Mental Health, you will find that almost anyone can be diagnosed with one. Moreover, disorders like Antisocial Personality Disorder are slanted towards the poor and the disadvantaged, and may even be inherently racist.

Psychologists don't generally take advantage of this, and realize the limitations of any diagnostic manual. If they didn't have an interest in understanding and helping people, they wouldn't be attracted toward the profession. However, the legal system does use and manipulate the definitions. (Don't even get me started on psychologists in the courtrooms. It's also a good thing that I moved on from the death penalty. I mean, all the data suggests that it actually raises crime rates.) And it's all founded in the irresponsible idea behind Axis II.

Okay, that's my rant for the day. Oh, and the test also said I was a bit Narcissistic, but I discounted that because I really am superior.

In defense of an earlier entry

A friend of mine has taken issue with my earlier comment that I tire of my friends being "normal." (This is *not* a friend who I count as normal, and the reasons should become clear shortly.) She says that this is an elitist attitude and, frankly, rather junior high.

She's right. In fact, the way I spent my time in junior high was to mathematically prove that weird and normal were synonymous.

I said I tired of my friends being normal. This was an example of me being (a) tongue in cheek, and (b) nice. I could have used a million other adjectives such as: bland. smallminded. uncreative. classless. bigoted. I did not use these or other terms, because I *do* like these people. Therefore I went with "normal" and made myself sound like a snob instead of deprecating them.

But perhaps I should have put it a different way entirely: I don't learn anything from them. Nor do I receive appreciable emotional support. They teach me nothing new about myself or the world, and when I'm with them, I feel like an alien, someone they study with fascination but no empathy.

No, that's not it. I feel like their teacher. I feel as though they are my students instead of my peers. Being around them is work rather than relaxation. It would be easy to say that I gravitate toward the teacher position and am subjugating them in some way, but that's not the truth. They beg me to lead them and get upset if I want to lose control even a little. No matter the situation, I'm the one who has to stay sober and take care of everyone. I'm the one who has to solve every problem that comes up. And I'm the one who has to act as host, even when it's someone else's party.

They tell me they want to see my other sides, but when I start to show them, they recoil in fear.

So I say that they're normal and I'm different, and I move on.

And again. . .

I need to stop rewording this, but I don't feel I've gotten it right. I am dubious that I will, but I'm obsessive enough to try.

(Also, if I contradict myself, I don't see a problem with it. Truth is generally more complicated than straightforward, more multifaceted than obvious. I have little trouble holding two ideas that are cognitively dissonant.)¹

I'm going to use a famous Romie Metaphor(tm) now. (My excessive use of metaphor is well known among my associates, and equally well dreaded -- perhaps for good reason.)

Imagine, for a moment, that you are a musician. Hopefully, your teacher gives you pieces which are challenging to you, which broaden your horisons and encourage you to improve. Now imagine that instead, your teacher gives you pieces far below your level. What do you do? You either find a new teacher, or you stop playing the piano.

. . . and now that we've ventured into "Freudian Slip Land, maker of fine shoehorns," I think that's enough for one evening.


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¹The brilliant (and here I am actually referring to Einstein instead of myself, who could accept the idea that time and space were not constant and yet refused to embrace quantam mechanics) are often contradictory because they can accept what the rest of us call "dissonance" and simply experience it.<sup>2

2</sup>If you happen to be rereading this entry, you may note that the previous footnote was not initially a part of it. I often go back and edit my own entries, or comment upon them. I struggle with this decision -- is it better to be a historian and leave thiings as they are, or to allow the text to live? As they are my own perceptions, and as I say most things in allusion (illusion?) to another train of thought³, I have little choice. How much the casual reader must miss.

³The second-most entertaining e-mail I've ever received had a paragraph which dealt with this subject. Perhaps at some point I will have the wherewithal to include it in its entirety, along with the very most entertaining e-mail I've ever received. Suffice it to say, the upshot was that trains of thought were better than spaceships of thought because one can jump from one to the other like beats used to do, and wihout having to put on a complicated pressure suit.