Worth was, in every sense of the word, a perfect masochist. He'd put a knife to his arm on more than one occasion just to feel the sensation of his skin peeling apart to let that blade through. He didn't do it for psychological feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, but rather he did it to feel the pain, pure and simple. Worth liked to hurt himself because it felt good in some sick twisted way, and there was no greater pain than being alone.
The Doc had no real friends (Hanna and them didn't count; with those guys it was strictly a doctor/recurring patient relationship) that he'd go out and drink with, he'd cut off all ties to his family, so, he had no one to turn to if things got too bad, and he definitely had no pretty girl to take to the movies on his days off. It was with a morbid sense of self-satisfaction of knowing that he had done it all to himself brought the greatest pleasure in pain.
How can isolating yourself possibly bring about the intense amount of pain that Doc Worth reveled in? It involved knowing. Knowing that people he knew were out there somewhere living it up and having fun with friends 'n things was what caused it. While Worth usually stuck around in his office even long after the last patient had blown through, he knew that people like Hanna were out having fun. Without him. They didn't bother to invite him to their outings or celebrations or whatever the hell they did, simply because Doc made such an ass of himself. And that hurt. It hurt knowing that they didn't give him a second thought before going out to do things with each other. Hell, he'd like to tag along if only they him he could, but no one wants to deal with a grungy bastard who snaps and bickers with everyone at any given chance.
Most people who knew him thought it was…unintentional, they way he drove people away. It wasn't hard to believe, since his asshole attitude and his dickish personality played such a huge part in his tactics, so of course he was he was always alone, there wasn't a soul out there who could tolerate the crabby Doc. If people threw sympathy his way, then, pah; fuck 'em. He didn't need it because it was all part of Worth's plan. He knew people's limits and just how much verbal abuse one could take before they ultimately left (and yet Hanna kept coming back, the annoying twat), and he enjoyed testing those limits daily.
He didn't want friends; didn't need 'em. They were useless in the grand scheme of things; no matter how many friends you had, you still died alone. And, well, as long as he wasn't a total recluse and continued making brief contact with society and it's patronages, then he could maintain some form of sanity while continuing to fulfill that sick desire to inflict pain onto himself in ever more creative ways. Essentially, he had turned himself into some sad, sappy sucker who longed to go on outings with friends and have fun with people he knew, but the masochist in him forbid it. So, while Doc sat alone in his office with naught but a cigarette for company, everyone else he vaguely knew was out making the most out of life, and it was with great pleasure that could say that yes, he really did like being alone because it was something he had done to himself, and knowing that caused the greatest pain he ever knew, and he loved it.
''Cause I'm proud of my life, and the things that I have done;
Proud of myself and the loner I've become."
A/N: So uh, I'm pretty sure I over-think Worth's character. Like, a lot. Anyway, this was inspired by the Manchester Orchestra song 'Do You Really Like Being Alone?' and the Say Anything lyric at the end. If you squint really hard you can see the Donnie Darko and Modest Mouse references, heh.