This article caught my eye a while back:
Harry Judd’s wife Izzy has claimed that one of their children suffers from what some experts describe as ‘pathological demand avoidance’ – a controversial behaviour pattern said to make even simple requests, such as tidying their room or saying please and thank you, trigger anxiety.
I have no idea who the Judds are — some obscure Brit celebrities, I guess — but reading that sentence would have made my mother go “AHA!”
If “pathological demand avoidance” could also be described as a hostile (and sometimes even violent) attitude towards authority figures, then oh boy: that would describe me perfectly. There’s an old English expression that my former housemaster actually used to describe my attitude: “He’s always kicking against the pricks.” (Look it up; it’s quite funny.)
The only thing that sets me aside from the kid above would be the fact that if said authority figure has earned my respect, then the process will sometimes become easier (for them). The only problem is that my respect is seldom given, to just about anyone and anything. And by “anything”, I mean conventions, rules, regulations and even — on occasion — laws, if they make no sense.
My attitude is probably the cause of at least a third of the problems I’ve experienced during my lifetime (my love of women is about half, and I couldn’t be bothered trying to think of what constitutes the balance).
Anyway, whenever the occasion presents itself and I stand accused of willful disobedience / outright rebellion, I can now just trot out the excuse that I’m not a stubborn and disobedient asshole; I just suffer from this “pathological demand avoidance (PDA)” thing, and claim victim status.
No I won’t. What a load of old bullshit.
Next thing you’ll be seeing one of those foul Big Pharma TV ads that features — guess what — a pill that promises to alleviate PDA (at $400 per pill, no doubt), as long as you don’t mind the side-effects that include eventual cessation of heart function, a 90% risk of cancer and toenails that grow six inches per hour, in no specific order, and you should talk to your doctor to make sure that Rebyniflorbitylhexacholate (brand name: Rebate) is right for you.
In case anyone missed it, I am NOT in a good mood today and I’m going to go for my personal cure for the condition: a couple hours at the range. Fortunately, the range I call home has few if any range safety nazis, because nothing gets up my nose like some 19-year-old wanker wearing a SIG 320 in a plastic holster telling me about range safety as though my 60-years-plus experience with handling Teh Dangerous Guns doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t “trigger” anxiety, but rage.
Bloody hell, I get irritable just thinking about it.
Might it be rage-inducing of me to suggest you calm down?
Better than you have tried, and failed.
Failed at what, enrage you or calm you?
Take your pick.
I get along well with others when I’m not around them.
I have no more fux to give.
The more time that I spend with people makes me realize why I prefer to spend more time with my dog. I think that was said by Mark Twain or Will Rogers.
Why do we put up with this nonsense from these little shitlings? The American Psychiatric Association and the National Federation of Teachers want to medicate these twerps when a swift whack would do quite nicely, cheaply and effectively.
It is amazing what can result from a swift, firm, slap to the back of the head.
or a mild slap to the behind when they start this shit about age four
The threat of the wooden paddle with “Board of Education painted on it kept me in line.
And then there’s the side effects of Big Pharma’s latest : prehensile colon & erectile flatulence.