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I think I have compassion fatigue. Let me tell you what it feels like.
It’s a slow and gentle draining of the emotional resources people keep for use in dealing with others. It’s something which I thought must have been connected to my approaching the age of thirty and finally losing my rose-tinted view of the world. My unshakeable faith in the goodness of people.
It’s a lack of pity toward a general collection of people who act in distinctly childish ways because they obviously have self-esteem problems. For example, I have encountered a couple of people in the last few months who go on the ‘sell’ with me about themselves, cramming and cramming their value down my throat. I’m impressive. Aren’t you impressed with me? Look at how amazing I am. I need your admiration. I need it, I need it, I need it. Instead of feeling sorry for them needing it so badly, (hell, I’ve needed it at times!) I just get cranky at them for being so desperate for attention.
It’s a kind of cynicism that stops me from smiling and feeling sorry when I’m approached by people on the street looking for charitable donations. I think; you just want to take advantage of me. When I look at Facebook, I think: Shut up, feminists. Go away, political activists. Look elsewhere, fundraisers. If you’re angry, empassioned, desperate or in need of assistance, put your hand down. Now.
I have zero tolerance for the homeless, the sick, the mentally ill right now. I have no sympathy for those who are addicted, traumatised, outcast or downtrodden. I just wish they’d get out of my way.
Where has this come from, this draining away of my tenderness? I know, logically, that people have legitimate problems. That terrible things have happened to them, and they’re never going to get over it. That their bad behaviour is a symptom of something they can’t fix.
I’ve read some pretty interesting stuff about compassion fatigue online, and have been shocked to find it so accurately attuned to what I’m experiencing, particularly in the areas of what they call ‘the homelessness problem’. The articles describe sufferers of compassion fatigue working in the health profession developing the syndrome from being overloaded with the need to empathise with patients. Compassion fatigue can lead to ‘a decrease in productivity, the inability to focus, and the development of new feelings of incompetency and self-doubt’. Maybe that’s where my ‘fuck you all’ attitude is coming from lately. My ‘shut up and leave me alone’ sort of tone toward people I don’t know (and don’t want to know, thanks much!). Some studies are suggesting that there’s a world-wide trend toward compassion fatigue, caused by some of the devastating crap we’re seeing in the Post-Sep 11 media. My back hurts. Really? Well eighteen children were just killed in a fire in Kansas, ok? So shut the fuck up.
I wonder if compassion fatigue has anything to do with my interest in crime. Do I subconsciously think ‘Oh, you had a rough childhood? Well I was just reading (or writing) about (insert murdered child’s name here). Want to know how hers worked out?’ ‘Oh you don’t like your mother? Good thing you don’t have (insert murderous mother’s name here) for one.’ Am I stuck in the extremes of human experience, in which no one has anything to whinge about until there’s blood on the floor?
Is it that I hate hearing about problems I cannot personally fix? I am, and always have been, a perfectionist. There have been times in my life when I’ve received more tangible pleasure and security from re-organising a cupboard than I have from a human hug. When someone presents me with a problem (I’m homeless, I hate myself, I hate my job, I’m crazy, no one will ever love me) that I simply have no effect over, does some neon light in my brain that reads FAILURE sizzle and spark to life?
When you put all of this together, it probably sounds cold. But at least it’s honest, right?
I think I just need to get into a bathtub filled with puppies. Dozens and dozens of newborn puppies. The ones with the soft, downy fur.
