Snark
Introduction
This is my first fan fiction, and I'll do my best to earn your kind, constructive reviews!
I find myself identifying closely with the character of House. I don't own any of the characters in this story. Some of the vignettes are based on past scripts from the show with a lot of my own experiences woven in. This is written in first person singular from House's perspective, and is influenced partly by "One Day One Room" and partly by the first half of Season 6.
I wrote this knowing that the character has a double specialty in infectious disease and nephrology, and in my world, he chose both.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
While I hate biographies or autobiographies, I do like to read. I also love music, jazz in particular, and most of my free time is spent watching TV or with a guitar in hand, or at my piano. Few people ever see this part of me, though. I guard my privacy carefully. I'm not afraid of dealing with people. I'm afraid of the rejection I have always experienced every time I have tried to form close relationships. I'd rather keep them at a distance than wait until they get close enough to me to discover something they don't like about me. Yes, I've had relationships, but the only one I would have considered marrying was the one I half drove away and half let get away.
Some people seem to think that I don't want to deal with people because I'm ashamed of my disability. That's absurd, but let 'em think whatever they want to think. Yes, I had a terrible leg injury that left me with a permanent limp and chronic pain. The only people currently in my life that knew me before the infarction are my mom, Cuddy and Wilson, and they knew I was an introvert long before the infarction. Everyone else currently in my life came into my life after the infarction, and if they think I don't like to deal with people because of the leg, let 'em. I don't care.
Wilson thought I should have completed the first round of psychotherapy that was prescribed for me after my infarction but I only went to one session. I found it unhelpful, to say the least. It's nobody's business but mine why I found it unhelpful. I'd rather not sit in front of a bunch of strangers telling them what happened to me or what feelings I may be experiencing. Group therapy for PTSD is fine for some, particularly if they actually DO HAVE PTSD, but not for everyone, and not for people who don't have PTSD. I wish Wilson would have understood that and not tried to make me feel worse for not going back. The infarction and its resulting disability didn't make me any more depressed than I was before. The coping skills I used to try to deal with my depression might not be the same that most others would use, but what everyone seems to keep forgetting is that the only thing that matters is how *I* feel about myself, not how anyone else feels about me.
True, the vicodin caused delusions and hallucinations, but I was using the vicodin for physical pain relief because nothing else worked. I tried acupuncture, I tried TENS, I tried massage therapy, I tried every other kind of physical therapy that was prescribed for me; hell, I even tried that famous Ketamine therapy that works so well for most chronic pain sufferers. I had to go to Germany for that one, because Ketamine therapy hadn't been approved for use in the US yet. Physical therapy was able to restore my ability to ambulate to the extent that I am able, but not without some form of pain relief. I knew when I started the vicodin that even short term use could cause hallucinations and delusions, and I knew that long term use could well cause hepatotoxicity as well as other serious complications. Believe me, had non-pharmacologic pain relief measures worked, I'd never have popped ANY pills. I had to resort to vicodin because nothing else worked.
Everyone I know seems to want to focus on the fact that I'm still a jerk (superficially, anyway) after my discharge from Mayfield. I guess they thought I was a Jekyll and Hyde kind of guy, that maybe once the Jekyll guy left for good and I changed into Hyde permanently, I'd be this nicer and gentler touchy-feely Hyde. Well, personalities don't change. Coping skills might change once we're shown the skills necessary to cope with chronic depression, and sometimes SSRIs can alter a person's mood, but personalities don't change. I love my quirky personality. I love that my personality hasn't changed. I love that I have witty one liners I toss out at will. I love that I still look at the ill human body as a puzzle that I can't quit until I solve it. People tell me all the time that I don't give a damn about people, but I do. I don't like seeing people suffer. I just don't care that nobody takes the time to look underneath my barbs to see that I do care. If they're so quick to write me off as an asshole because all they know about me is that I have a disability and I say jerky things, then let 'em feel however they want to.
When I was in Mayfield, I told Nolan that my session could last 50 years because I was the sum of all my life experiences. Part of that is true; my 50 years of life experience have contributed to make me who I am, good AND bad. That's not all there is to me, though. I'm not sure anyone wants to hear it, since nobody has ever shown enough interest in me to want to listen to me when I do open up except Nolan. Since I do like to read, though, I thought maybe I might like to write as well, so since nobody else wants to hear me TALK about it, the next best action is to write it down. Here we go.