Realness

I actually really like the Velveteen Rabbit story, also the Little Prince, which both touch on this idea of there being a "realness" that is particularly "real".

From a reader:

I found your book incredibly thought provoking. As someone who considers himself the functional opposite of a sociopath, I read it out of a curiosity and desire to understand the mental processes of someone so different from myself. Though I study psychology and consider myself fairly open-minded about different mental states, I did have some stigma surrounding sociopathy simply because of the sensationalized media portrayal that I have grown up with. My perspective was certainly challenged.

            I have never read a book that felt like such an interactive experience. You were up front about your manipulation, but I still found myself constantly challenging and questioning your intentions, determined not to let you get the best of me. Just when I would start to feel superiority for your callousness, you would express vulnerability. Just when I started to sense weakness, you reminded me of my own. In the end I accepted defeat in largely seeing your point of view, but I did so in a way that felt satisfying. I realized that, though it was all very calculated, that didn’t mean your intentions couldn’t be genuine.

What struck me most were not the differences, but the similarities between your cognition and my own. This makes me think that, in some ways (but certainly not all), emotional sensitivity acts as a buffer to disguise the empath’s selfish actions, allowing personal justification. It simply provides an extra step that allows me to feel as if my actions are not entirely performed out of self-interest. For example, when I sense weakness in a person, I make it my goal to try and help them in this regard. I speak with them directly and admit my own vulnerabilities, I emphasize their strengths and I compliment them in front of others. I pride myself on being the type of person that will continue paying attention to the original speaker if they are interrupted in a group conversation, or open my body to allow someone into a circle. Though this may make me feel like a ‘good person’, it is all about manipulating how others see me, in turn bolstering my self-perception.

I know that I am an empath because when someone else is in visible pain, it bothers me deeply. As a child I would get deeply upset when a character would be injured or die in a movie. But none of this is selfless. I feel inclined to help somebody in pain because I have the ability to see their pain as my own. In helping them feel better, I help myself feel better. I have no delusions about this, it just seems that, for better or worse, my self-interest better lines up with conventional conceptions of ‘moral goodness’.

These similarities that I felt to your cognition make me wonder how much of it is actually a result of your sociopathy (I know that you were consciously making a generalized distinction in order to highlight your point).  I feel that much of the likeness can be explained by other traits, such as situational awareness and introspection. All people act selfishly, but amazingly some people have very little awareness of it at all. I think I was finding familiarity in your knack for logically articulating your thought process. So it seems like, as a generous over simplification, sociopathy is ‘normal’ cognition without the added step of emotional processing. This emotional processing certainly has downfalls (you were very clear about this), but the upsides are what I find myself curious about.

What I really want to ask is whether you experience moments of heightened or superior consciousness—moments that feel entirely genuine. I am not quite sure how to articulate these moments, other than to call them more ‘real’ than the rest of life. Many of them come in the form of human connection, which it seems you probably don’t experience in the same way (though you hinted a bit at something like this in regards to your niece). This can take the form of a communal experience, an absorbing conversation, or even simply eye contact that evokes a powerful sense of mutual understanding, if only for a second. It can happen in other ways too. For me it might be coming over the top of a hill and seeing the sun through the trees, laying in bed and being utterly absorbed into the beauty of a song, or looking out in wonder over a city at night. You spoke of ‘epiphanies’ in your book, but these are not quite the same. I can only describe it as a powerful welling up of nondescript positive emotion, often taking me by surprise. I am very curious if you ever feel anything that can relate to that. Or, if you say that you can ‘tune in’ to certain emotions, maybe you can create it intentionally? For me, these moments make the downfalls of empathic life completely worth it.

I know you must be a very busy woman, but I would be very curious as to whether you could relate to these moments of ‘realness’ for lack of a better term.

M.E.:

I have moments when I feel, what I call "raw", as if more of me is exposed -- like a wire stripped of its insulation. I'm not sure if that is similar. I also have moments of ecstasy that give me shivers, like beautiful music or art. There are also moments of intense connection that I feel with people, e.g. if I have seduced them. Do these sound like what you're describing?

Reader:

Yes, that actually doesn't sound too far off. It sounds like maybe your experiences are no less intense, but maybe a bit less specific in terms of a clearly defined emotion? Maybe your brain still produces these emotions in response to your experiences, but the deficit is in the connection between your emotional centers and your frontal cortex. Anyways, thanks so much for responding, and feel free to use whatever you like on your blog! I would be honored.

The Empath's Cheat-Sheet for What a Sociopath Really Means

I love this, from an anonymous reader:

The Empath's Cheat-Sheet for What a Sociopath Really Means

1. I love you: I am fond of your companionship and put you above most, but never above me. Consider it an honor.

2. I'm sorry, forgive me: I really do not enjoy the fact that your mood has altered. Please revert back to normal.

3. I'd do anything for you: I'd do plenty to keep you right where I want you to be

4. My condolences for your loss: *crickets* ... It's just a body. See you later when you aren't being an emotional train-wreck.

5. S/he fills my heart with joy: I haven't had this much fun playing in a long time, and the sex is more than acceptable.

6. I love my family: They're mine.

7. That's simply shocking: You've touched my morbid bone. No need to stop now...

8. Deep down, I feel I'm a good person: I'm not in prison and I stopped abusing animals, mostly. What more can you possibly demand of me?

9. I'm not a monster, I'm a human too: I'm trying to seem human, give me a break. It's not like this is particularly natural for me.

Does anyone have a number 10?

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Sociopaths feel emotion

I have been surprised by how often I hear or read someone saying that sociopaths don't have emotions or can't form emotional bonds with other people. Most often it's people talking about how sociopaths are soulless monsters or must live lives completely devoid of any real meaningful relationships, but sometimes it's someone saying that he couldn't possibly be a sociopath because he feels emotions and love, etc. This is all fallacy. The three main diagnostic criterions actually have relatively little to say about emotions: Cleckley only mentions "general poverty in major affective reactions" and a poorly integrated sex life, Hare's PCL-R also lists shallow affect, and the DSM-V's ASPD only says that sociopaths tend to experience irritability and don't feel remorse. Nowhere does it say that sociopaths don't love. Nowhere does it say that sociopaths can't form emotional bonds. There is not a single historical example of a sociopath who is a completely emotionless, robot loner, so I don't know from where people are getting this image of the emotionless sociopath.

I thought about this popular misconception when I read this recent comment:

"How does a sociopath know when the missing emotions that make him supposedly so different, since he does not feel them, are feigned? In other words how does he learn to differentiate between feigned and real emotions?"

I am sociopathic, but have some emotion. These emotions are egocentric and only arise with events I am directly involved with, but they are still there. I feel joy and happiness at doing my favorite activities and I can (but may not always) feel anger or sadness when things do not go my way. Nonetheless, these are 'feelings' because they provide information that goes beyond the intellectual analysis of the situation at hand.

Because I have those feelings I can easily contrast those with situations where I do not or am faking them. If I am 'acting' in such a way to not betray myself, and my only contribution to that acting is my intellectual state, then I know that there is an absence of feeling there. If one tells me about how their friend died and they are in tears, I know that I must contribute with an appropriate response so that they 1) do not realize my status and 2) are not feeling any worse. Going through the motions because of this intellectual realization is far different than the automatic response given by most non-sociopaths. I think, by and large, we realize that we are not giving the same response as non-sociopaths because we realize that we have to craft the *entire* interaction with another person, not just the words.

But I don't think even this idea of faking emotions is so different than most people. Do you always mean it when you say "oh, I'm so sorry to hear that"?

Of course who knows whether sociopaths are feeling the same emotions that everyone else is, but I don't think anyone's emotional palette is completely identical to anyone else. Rather people's emotions are going to depend on their culture, their belief system, their education, the societal expectations placed on them, along with the vast natural and physical differences between people's brain and brain chemistry. This applies particularly to a complex emotion like love. I was actually just talking to a friend about how the only reason he can tell his wife loves him is that she very actively ensures that he is sexually satisfied (she's not a sociopath, but this "complaint" could very well be said about many sociopathic spouses). But whatever, right? Who is to say that this is a lesser or less desirable love than someone who would love to hold your hand in a hot air balloon?

Sociopaths = primed for happiness?

I recently found out my death year is in the 2070s and thought, wow, that long? Better find some way to entertain myself... But I think a lot of people must be thinking the same thing. We no longer live hard and fast, struggling to meet the basic requirements of survival. With our survival all but assured, our minds are free to wonder, what else is there to life? For most people, it's not about the quest for meaning or heaven or anything else, but rather happiness that people seek most, reports the cover article in Psychology Today this month. What is the secret to happiness? Recent research suggests counterintuitive results -- people who engage in "activities that lead us to feel uncertainty, discomfort, and even a dash of guilt." Sound like anyone you know?

First, happy people seek stimulation:

Curiosity, it seems, is largely about exploration—often at the price of momentary happiness. Curious people generally accept the notion that while being uncomfortable and vulnerable is not an easy path, it is the most direct route to becoming stronger and wiser. In fact, a closer look at the study by Kashdan and Steger suggests that curious people invest in activities that cause them discomfort as a springboard to higher psychological peaks.

Reminds me of this recent post on doing things the hard way.

Second, happy people are unflaggingly optimistic, even delusionally so, even to the point of gullibility:

A standard criticism of happy people is that they're not realistic—they sail through life blissfully unaware of the world's ills and problems. Satisfied people are less likely to be analytical and detail-oriented. A study led by University of New South Wales psychologist Joseph Forgas found that dispositionally happy people—those who have a general leaning toward the positive—are less skeptical than others. They tend to be uncritically open toward strangers and thus can be particularly gullible to lies and deceit. Think of the happy granny who is overcharged at the car dealership by the smiling salesperson compared with more discerning, slightly less upbeat consumers.

Reminds me of this recent tweet.

"Even if you took every precaution in the world, you could still be manipulated. Or maybe a plane will fall on your head. Why stress?"
— M.E. (@sociopathworld) August 8, 2013

Third, they tend to not care about brass rings, don't really run in the rat race:

Similarly, the happiest people possess a devil-may-care attitude about performance. In a review of the research literature by Oishi and his colleagues, the happiest people—those who scored a 9 or 10 out of 10 on measures of life satisfaction—tended to perform less well than moderately happy people in accomplishments such as grades, class attendance, or work salaries. In short, they were less conscientious about their performance; to them, sacrificing some degree of achievement seems to be a small price to pay for not having to sweat the small stuff.

People who have a more fluid sense of self (see also Buddhists):

The ability to shift mental states as circumstances demand turns out to be a fundamental aspect of well-being.

Other counterintuitive tidbits that don't necessarily fit sociopaths (but should!) include giving to and serving others makes you happy, being happy for other people makes you happy, accepting your negative emotions and what that means about you, etc. Of course sense of purpose also matters, but it seems to be more a sense of forward progression:

If you want to envision a happy person's stance, imagine one foot rooted in the present with mindful appreciation of what one has—and the other foot reaching toward the future for yet-to-be-uncovered sources of meaning.