Socializing--on the bus

This entry is sort of in two parts, the first written after the second. I was going to talk about my newfound socializing skills, and how I saw Labyrinth last night with a friend I was determined to get to know better, but then I realized I needed to talk about the junkie. (He told me his name when he shook my hand and thanked me, but I being the horrible person I am, have forgotten it.)

Yesterday morning, I was disturbed on the bus by this jumpy guy asking to sit next to me. I had been absorbed in my book, and was flustered, telling him, "sit where you like." His jumpiness made me nervous, and I wished he'd go away, but then he started talking to me, and I soon realized that if I ignored this guy, then I was an asshole. He said he was on his way to find a methadone clinic, and showed me the track marks on the back of his hand*. He told me his story, about how his parents were both addicts since he was born, though his mother had recently quit, and was worried about him. About how he felt like he had split personality, with the addict and the non-addict each fighting for control.
I listened and nodded and told him it would be hard but worth it, and he just had to keep focused on his goal. I said it sounded like he had people who loved him. There was nothing else I could do, and it seemed like he didn't want anything else. He said his friends didn't want to listen because they had their own problems.
As I said above, he told me his name, but at the time, I didn't think I'd ever see him again, and I was overwhelmed, so the word just whooshed through my head as he shook my hand. Now, I realize that was a stupid thought, because I see the same people all the time on the bus, and if I ever do see him again, I should ask how he's doing. Please forgive me, random addict, for not remembering your name.

This is actually the second time this has happened to me since moving to Seattle. I thought I'd written about the first time, but I don't see an entry for it. It was this old guy waiting for the bus to take him a few blocks because he was in too much pain to walk it. His doctors wanted to replace his knees, but he was terrified of surgery. He had to make a choice, and he asked me for advice.

These encounters with a very raw level of human emotion leave me shaken, both because of my powerlessness, and because they hint at things I could do, but am too selfish.

Part 2, which I actually wrote first.

So I've decided that since much of my energy lately seems to be going to socializing, I'd just go with it. My sense of self is defined greatly by my physical environment, and the relationships I have with people, and at the moment, thanks to the move, I am rebuilding my world.
The Prozac seems to be helping me rediscover my old INFP self, and while I wish I were more focused, I'm not resisting the change. I don't know if it's actually because of the change, or because I'm simply around more people now, or what, but it seems like people are adopting me as a confidant more. This was standard for me in high school. My friends talked to me about their problems, and I always did my best to be a good listener, and dispense what wisdom I could.
Part of this is of course my receptiveness and willingness to listen. Back when I was going through the breakup, and I first started to notice my shift from INFP to INTP/INTJ, I decided to join the local domestic violence service, to take advantage of what had always seemed like my strongest virtue--the ability to listen to people. However, when I actually went through the training, I discovered that actually listening to people's problems was draining in the extreme, so I took a low-interaction position doing paperwork.
My energy was focusing, and while this benefited my budding writing, it didn't really leave any spare energy for people.
Now that I'm melting back into a Feeler, I definitely feel like my heart is a bottomless pool, and I'm able to give more of it. Granted, I can't sit down and stay focused on writing worth crap, but I'll eventually get back to it.

*hey, after-the-fact Sherlock Holmes moment: he was left-handed!

(no subject)

Well, I have seen the Blue Angels. I wandered to a little overlook up here on Queen Anne, which is quite a ways from Lake Washington, where the show is, but I figured I'd be able to see something. And indeed, for the most part, it was like watching mosquitoes fly around. Yesterday, one of my friends was saying she left town during this, because the noise gives her migraines. As I was walking to the viewpoint, I could hear the planes rumbling in the distance, and thought, "she should come over here for it, the noise isn't much louder than an ordinary passenger jet." But then one flew right over me, and it is indeed rather loud. I think that's the only time I've ever felt sound as an actual wave, rolling over me.
We had a few really nice flybys, and then I decided I was content.