Showing posts sorted by relevance for query born this way. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query born this way. Sort by date Show all posts

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

What's you vs. the disorder?

I've heard a lot of explanations for why despite being disordered, there's still something beyond that worthy of moral condemnation. Let me unpack that a little more -- a lot of people will acknowledge that my brain has certain deficits (e.g. empathy, recognition of my own emotional states, etc.), deficits that I never asked to have (i.e. born or acquired/developing by the time I was an infant or toddler). But despite acknowledging that is true, there is something about me that is still morally abhorrent to them. So since they feel that way, they often try to come up with logical reasons to justify that feeling. I've heard a lot of variations on the theme, to list just a few: (1) I still have the power to choose, so I should (or at least could theoretically) just choose to go against all of my hardwiring, 100% of the time,  just by sheer strength of willpower (just like gay people can can choose to go against their hardwiring and act straight), (2) everybody has brain problems and we can't allow people a "get out of jail free" card for their brain issues otherwise no one would ever try to surmount their brain problems and society would collapse (although this one doesn't explain why the moral animus, i.e. why I am morally culpable, just that people think I should be economically responsible for the harm/consequences of my actions), (3) I was created evil or am some sort of devil that is inherently morally wrong. But actually the one that bothered me most at the time that I first heard it, perhaps because it was in part used to justify some very bad behavior towards me, was "it's not the things you've done, it's the way you feel about them." To this person, I had not done anything truly objectionable, it was more my lack of guilt about having done them. They said, it's not your disorder that is a problem, it's your attitude about it. I never did reply, it wouldn't have mattered at that point, but internally I yelled -- the disorder is the attitude.  

I thought about this again while watching the movie Still Alice, about someone with early onset Alzheimer's. She gives a speech about what her experience of that disorder is that I thought was remarkably like living with anything that is both part of you, and not really -- where the lines of what is you and what is the disorder blur, particularly in the minds of other people:

  The poet Elizabeth Bishop once wrote: 
   The art of losing isn’t hard to master. So many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their lost is no disaster. 
   I am not a poet. I am a person living with early onset Alzheimer’s, and as that person I find myself learning the art of losing every day. Losing my bearings, losing objects, losing sleep, but mostly losing memories. 
   ***
   All my life, I’ve accumulated memories; they’ve become in a way my most precious possessions. The night I met my husband, the first time I held my textbook in my hands, having children, making friends, traveling the world. Everything I accumulated in life, everything I worked so hard for, now all that is being ripped away. As you can imagine, or as you know, this is hell, but it gets worse. 
   Who can take us seriously when we are so far from who we once were? Our strange behavior and fumbled sentences change other’s perceptions of us and our perceptions of ourselves. We become ridiculous, incapable, comic, but this is not who we are, this is our disease. And like any disease, it has a cause, it has a progression, and it could have a cure. 
   My greatest wish is that my children, our children, the next generation do not have to face what I am facing. But for the time being, I’m still alive, I know I’m alive. I have people I love dearly, I have things I want to do with my life. I rail against myself for not being able to remember things. But I still have moments in the day of pure happiness and joy. And please do not think that I am suffering, I am not suffering. I am struggling, struggling to be a part of things, to stay connected to who I once was. 
   So living in the moment I tell myself. 
   It’s really all I can do. Live in the moment, and not beat myself up too much, and, and not beat myself up too much for mastering the art of losing. 

It's an interesting thought -- if something has a "cure" or is "treatable" or at least alterable, does that mean it's never "you"? 

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Tell me doctor (part 2)

(cont.)


By the time my siblings were born and I started school, I had already developed addictive tendencies (an understatement for a full blown addiction) and a rage act. An act I would constantly submit my mother to, because of the disconnect, which I found tedious and unnecessary. Like her. And because of the habit. Addicts become angered and defensive when confronted, and that was me. A little too often. Screaming that I hated her, that she wasn't my mother, etc. Anything to hurt her and walk away. Disregarding consequences.

At this point, I was already showing signs of antisocial behavior. Sure, I liked to go out and play, with very few selected acquaintances. With friends. But I much preferred (and still do) staying indoors, by myself. Either playing on my own, drawing, or watching a movie.

Sometimes I think and wonder if I was born to either be in jail or in a mental hospital. I’ve always felt that way. I can tell you that I’d do just fine. Confined in a four by four, blank walled cell. With nothing to do and no one to talk to. I’ve always lived in my head so there wouldn’t be much change. I’ve never had a problem with pretense (it’s like a switch.) With dissociation and compartmentalization. I mastered them at a very young age, due to my one-too-many, objectifying, hospital stays (I see myself as a Subject rather than a Person) and, I often use them to my advantage. Not as a coping mechanism but as tools. Though I am more than sure any therapist would say differently. 

Also, I’ve never been too keen with showing affection, or having it offered to me. Hugs alone make me doubt my every move. If I am to give one, or am given one, I have to mentally prepare myself beforehand. No matter how spontaneous the act may seem, it’s always carefully calculated. Any sort of affectionate gesture is, to me. A kiss, a hug, a--whatever else. It’s rehearsed, in my head at least. And it has to be. Otherwise, it’s an uncomfortable, awkward moment, for my counterpart. For me it’s simply confusing. Same goes with compliments and love confessions. My usual response, “Um, OK.” Then, silence.

Ex. One of my mother's favorite tales. 
If someone, either in attempting to be polite or because they genuinely wanted to, kissed me on the cheek, I would immediately rub my face clean. Agitated. Obviously, I was seen as rude, though they would say "cute". Soon after many insults of this sort, from my part, my mother had to teach me to be polite. Such a concept. Like a pup being prepared for a dog show. I hated it. The idea of not only putting up with people but also having to pretend to like them. To be "nice" to them. It took me years to get used to it. Used to it, not like it.

As for the addiction, it wasn't a big deal. Not from where I was standing. My parents knew about it but never did anything to stop it. Suppose I can't blame them, being new to the whole parenting alone, it's no easy task. Or so I'm told. Specially with a sick kid. The expected over-protectiveness and all. Suffocating. And so, an opposing reaction. Sometimes.

I would hide, lie, act. Whatever had to be done to get what I "needed" (wanted*). Consciously. After many years, the summer before I started high school, I decided I was going to quit. Cold turkey. And I did. And I haven’t gone back to it since. Will power, another switch. Reason why I have little to no sympathy for addicts. Bit ironic, I know.

During one of appointments, my then pediatrician warned my parents to be really careful with me. He told them that I was really smart, perhaps too smart for my own good, as they say, and that I knew how to handle people. That I would know exactly what, when, how to do whatever I had to do, to get my way. That they shouldn’t take on my “disability” as an excuse to let me get away with murder. That if not careful, I would use them. Manipulate them. That for their sake, it was better off if they kept me intellectually stimulated. Busy. I suppose that’s how I became an artist. Art. We all have our ways to feel connected.

I'm not sure what I did to make the Doc so concerned for my parents but, to date, it remains true. Sometimes, when extremely frustrated, I have outbursts. Small, raw moments when people get glimpses of what I call the “inner me”. Though rare, I hate it when it happens. Not because I’m shy, or coy, as people usually perceive me to be (I keep to myself). But because it means I was distracted. A spontaneous and small loss of self-control. Like with those childhood pets. Loss of self-control. Extremely irritating to me. My thought process is, “I know better. I can do better. I am better than that.”

Somewhat compulsive, I admit it. Borderline scary, I admit that too. But being as experienced as I am, as good as I am with controlling myself. Even those small impulses. Those primal urges. This, this is like a slap on the hand. Undermining. If I’m as good as I’ve come to be with this sort of thing, the average reactions shouldn’t be a problem. But I am aware that I have been caught in the middle of the confusion when trying to find an appropriate expression, reaction, reply. When I don’t know what people want from me and I have this odd, blank expressionless face. However, there had been times when the absolute opposite happens. With my siblings, it’s happened, "People should be thankful I don't manipulate them as much as I could!" To which they usually agree. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, or bad. If anything, these small moments of off-guarded behavior show me that, yeah, maybe, somehow, in some way, they know that something is off. Not right. Not properly.

My siblings. If I believed in love, I'd love them. Thing is, I'm not sure if I’ve ever felt love. Or loved. Even with my father. I felt understood, accepted. Not loved. I don't even know what that feels like. And the picture I have of what the L-word is supposed to be, it seems too Disney-like to be real. Of course, that could be expected from an atheist, which I've been my whole life (never wrote to Santa.) Nevertheless, I am curious. I don't think my idea of love is the same as the “real thing.” If it does exist.

In fact, I don't think I love. Sure, I care enough. Appropriately enough to make a mental note of X subject. I tend to be more, territorial. Protective. But that's not love. As far as I see it, that's animal instinct. It's primal. It's selfish, and sometimes childish. Like a wolf with its cubs. Or food. It's always been that way and I don't think it has any possibilities of changing. At least, I hope it doesn't. Because I wouldn’t know what to do with sentimentalists and the uselessness that comes with them.

Anyway, growing up, I was never interested in relationships. In puppy love. In crushes. I’ve always liked being alone so, I didn’t see the supposed need to have any of that. If it ain’t broken don’t fix it, right? And sure, don’t get me wrong, there has been attraction towards some individuals but, never something I couldn’t live without. That much’s still the same. But I must admit that there have been moments when, out of boredom or frustration given isolation, I wished I was in a relationship. Like my peers. Then I think about it again and shake off the idea as a whole, because if unnecessary, absurd.

And maybe that’s part of what’s brought me to write this letter. Curiosity first and then, a small need to know if maybe there is a logic explanation to my ways. Please, do not misinterpret that as a need for “meaning”. A “purpose”. I find both myths ridiculous.

At the age of twelve my father died, and I’ve been alone ever since. Well, in a sense. I’ve always been alone. We are all in our own. Respectively. At least I see it that way. We create relationships with constant shared moments but, in the end, we’re on our own. Some like it, some don’t. I, I remain indifferent.


Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Mask of Sanity: Anna

I was trying to look up something remembered in Hervey Cleckley's "Mask of Sanity" the other day and stumbled upon the hilarious account of the woman Anna.  I especially like his description of his first impressions of her:

There was nothing spectacular about her, but when she came into the office you felt that she merited the attention she at once obtained. She was, you could say without straining a point, rather good-looking, but she was not nearly so good-looking as most women would have to be to make a comparable impression. She spoke in the crisp, fluttery cadence of the British, consistently sounding her "r's" and "ing's" and regularly saying "been" as they do in London. For a girl born and raised in Georgia, such speaking could suggest affectation. Yet it was the very opposite of this quality that contributed a great deal to the pleasing effect she invariably produced on those who met her. Naive has so many inapplicable connotations it is hardly the word to use in reference to this urbane and gracious presence, yet it is difficult to think of our first meeting without that very word coming to mind, with its overtones of freshness, artlessness, and candor.

She had passed her fortieth birthday some months before. Neither her face nor her figure had lost anything worth mentioning. Despite her composure, she gave a distinct impression of energy and playful spontaneity, an impression of vivid youth. In response to ordinary questions about her activities and interests she spoke of tennis, riding, and reading. More specific inquiry brought out opinions on Hamlet's essential conflict, comparison between the music of Brahms and the music of Shostakovitch, an impressive criticism of Schopenhauer's views on women, and several pertinent references to The Brothers Karamazov. She expressed opinions on current affairs that seemed to make excellent sense and talked with wit about the cyclic changes in feminine clothes and the implications of atomic physics for the future. What she had to say was particularly interesting and she said it in just the opposite of all those many ways of talking that people call "making conversation."

As discussion progressed, the picture of a rather remarkable woman became more and more distinct. Here was evidence of high intelligence and of considerable learning without discernible bookishness or consciousness of being "an intellectual." Her manner suggested wide interest, fresh and contagious enthusiasms, and a taste for living that reached out toward all healthy experience. Having a cup of coffee with her or weeding a garden would somehow take on a special quality of fun and delightfulness. Something about her over and beyond her looks prompted the estimate that she would be very likely to elicit romantic impulses, strong sensual inclinations, from most men who encountered her. Here, it seemed, was natural taste without a shadow of posed estheticism, urbanity without blunting of response to the simplest of joys, integrity and good ethical sense with the very opposite of everything that could be called priggish or smug. She showed nothing to suggest she meant to give such an impression or that she had any thought as to how she seemed.

I've never read Mask of Sanity all the way through, only read snippets, but I have actually been enjoying it more recently.  I probably like it best out of all of the books about sociopath.  It is glaringly anecdotal, biased, and suffers from a pretty clear lack of objective, systematic research, but so is this blog, and there is something about his writing style that I enjoy. I like the Anna story because you can tell that he was taken in by her, and I think it is sometimes much better to see source material of people who are taken in rather than hear the same old "superficially charming."  I like the description of her idiosyncrasies: the accent, her artlessness, her eternal youthfulness, her attractiveness that seems to be something more than mere beauty, her intelligence, her charm, even a reference to the Brothers Karamazov (interestingly, later it discusses how she does not have the high brow tastes or prejudices of the typical "intellectual" of her education and breeding, but treats gossip magazines with the same interest as the music of Russian composers).  Later in the chapter on Anna, Cleckley tells how she quite sincerely taught Sunday Schoolvolunteered for the Red Cross, and engaged in haphazard same sex liaisons, one time with a nurse after being universally adored during a hospital stay ("Once while hospitalized for a week or ten days, she left the almost universal impression of being a delightful patient. Courteous, composed, undemanding, and cheerful, she took discomforts and minor pains in a way that elicited admiration.").  It reminded me of my own nearly identical experience charming all hospital staff without meaning to  while stuck there for a week after an appendectomy -- I was a crowd favorite, was called very "brave" and had random nurses ask me to keep in touch.

About this season every year I have a period of introspection and self doubt.  Sometimes I wonder if I believing I am a sociopath is a self-fulfilling prophecy, or distorts the way I see me in the world.  Recently I've been questioning again what I am doing writing this blog or believing that I am a sociopath, whatever that means.  I watch myself interact with others and think, is this what a sociopath would do?  Have I been living a lie these past few years?  It just seems like such a bizarre thing to believe this about oneself, bizarre even to believe that sociopaths exist and aren't just some random assortment of personality traits that occur together solely by chance.  I am sure I never will stop asking myself these questions, but when I read stories like Anna's and see all of the incredible parallels to my own life, including small details or other things I couldn't have known or whose existence in my life predate any awareness of what the term "sociopath" meant, I am just floored.  It's not necessarily the life I would have chosen for myself given an infinite number of options and I sometimes wonder at the improbability of who I am, who I turned out to be, but I really am ok with it.  More than ok, I'm happy.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Not feeling bad about not feeling bad

I thought this story from a reader was very interesting, particularly the parallels with my own life. I especially find her thoughts about religion to be very familiar:

I just recently started doing research on sociopaths.  Years ago a girl that knew me well said she thought I might be a sociopath but I brushed it off thinking that I’m nothing like the monsters sociopaths are portrayed as.  That’s why I find your website so refreshing.  Its not claiming all sociopaths are the same, nor are they always people that should be avoided at all cost.  Last week again I had someone close to me say they think I have sociopathic tendencies.  I started reading from your website and I do see a lot of similarities.  I’ve always felt different from everyone else.  I have an very emotional mother and growing up I could never understand her reactions to things.  Most of the time when I see anyone get emotional or upset by something it’s not like I don’t care, I just don’t feel it. I want to understand it like a puzzle.  I’ve always struggled with the concept of guilt.  I grew up in a very religious family and feeling remorse and repentance for your mistakes is considered to be key for forgiveness of sins.  I’ve always really struggled with what guilt is exactly because when I’ve done things I know I shouldn’t have, I don’t get an emotional response.  Me knowing it’s wrong is always based on logic and knowing what’s expected of me.  When I have done something wrong I do regret it but it’s usually because I see it as a failure on my part to live up to an expectation that either I or others have placed on me and I hate feeling like I don’t have control over myself or I have failed in anyway.  I know I have been cruel to people before and have messed with and manipulated people’s emotions.  When I was young I did it because watching how easily people could believe something or be manipulated was entertaining.  Now it’s usually only when I feel wronged or slighted and I never feel bad about it because it does seem justified.

I have a great job, a few close friends and overall I think I’m a very stable person but I do feel different.  I was disconnected from my family entirely for a year and I never felt an emotional sense of missing them.  My parents are normal people, never abused me, always supportive so when I hadn’t seen or talked to them for a long time I was hoping I would feel something but I mostly just felt indignant and irritated when I asked for help with different things and they ignored me.  On the reverse side while I usually get bored with guys very quickly there was this one guy that was almost impossible for me to let go of.  He has a PhD in psychiatry and he’s always fascinated me.  Whenever I saw him do something to intentionally irritate or passive-aggressively insult a friend simply because they told him something he didn’t want to hear I became more drawn to him.  Everything about our time together was intense but I would feel this gaping sense of loss any time he had to go or I didn’t see him for a while.  Even now I compare other guys to him and I can’t be bothered.  I don’t know why with one guy I could miss him so intensely but with my own family I feel so indifferent.  I don’t want to be a difficult person to be around but whenever I want something and I see a way of getting it I instinctively start shifting and manipulating the people around me to get it.  I think what I want usually benefits other people as well so I don’t feel bad about it and when a close friend who knows how I am calls me out and tells me she feels played I can’t help but feel she’s missing the bigger picture. I have also done a lot for the people close to me. I’ve gotten them jobs, found them nice places to live and helped them out of bad relationships.  I don’t think I’m a bad person or ‘evil’ and yet I am so disconnected from the people around me.  I mentioned I’m religious.  I do believe in God but recently I’ve had people in my religion ask me ‘heartfelt’ questions.  They’re the only questions I’ve ever struggled with.  I found myself trying to take apart the meaning of the questions, remember if I had heard other people express their answers before and guess what they wanted to hear because inside I didn’t understand, there was nothing indicating how I felt about it.  Explain why I want to be part of the organization, how guilt and repentance have motivated me to correct my actions; deep down I still don’t really think anything I’ve done has been all that bad.  Knowledge of the consequences and not wanting to see myself as a failure have taught me not to make the same choices.  I do want to make God happy but I don’t see why my actions or way of thinking would make him unhappy.

I read an excerpt from your book online just now and just in the small portion I read I see a lot of similarities.  When I was a teenager I had this girl I couldn't stand and I used to break into her house and rearrange little things around her room and memorize snippets from her diary to work casually and discretely into regular conversation to mess with her.  I even get the staring thing, I constantly have people think I'm glaring at them or trying to seduce them because I don't look away like most people. I just read a couple paragraphs but I think I'll have to buy a copy soon and take a read. It's interesting some of the things I recognise in myself. Even putting myself in life threatening situations... almost bleeding out on a camping trip because I didn't want to call attention to my injuries, look weak or have people try to assist me when I figured I could deal with it on my own.

I’m emailing I guess for curiosity and understanding.  I know this is the way I am and I don’t think it’s ‘bad’, just different.  I struggle with having to control myself, I want to have fun, I want to take chances and I enjoy seeing how one action can lead to a ripple effect in my favour but I don’t think I’m dangerous or need to be fixed I just want to know if that’s how sociopaths sometimes feel.  Like I said, I just started looking into this and I’m not saying I am a sociopath or think it’s terrible if I am. I just want to know more.

In my religion, there are a lot of people who think that emotions are the way that God speaks to you or a sign of true repentance (godly sorrow). But that's not necessary. As LDS Elder Richard G. Scott taught:

A testimony is fortified by spiritual impressions that confirm the validity of a teaching, of a righteous act, or of a warning of pending danger. Often such guidance is accompanied by powerful emotions that make it difficult to speak and bring tears to the eyes. But a testimony is not emotion.

And why would we need to feel things? Why would God make a group of people who were doomed to hell the moment they were born that way? But some religions believe that, I guess. Also some people believe that gay people are going to hell?
 

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Dealing with sociopathy

Everyone always wants to know how to deal with sociopaths, even sociopaths themselves. But for many sociopaths, the most difficult sociopaths they will ever have to "deal" with are themselves. Says a reader:
I'd like to communicate with you, I haven't seen much on the internet from the view of a sociopath. Do you try to act normal? I don't know what I am, and I won't try to label myself. I don't want to be normal, but I need to learn to act normal. I want to keep myself out of jail, the mental hospital, that kind of thing that I've experienced too much. I haven't done anything wrong, but that's what people see in me so it doesn't matter what I do. I just want to live my life freely, unimprisoned. I don't feel how I should, but I want to learn to act that way so that I can keep my independence. Please let me know if you have any experience in this area. Thanks.
There were a lot of points in this comment as well as a follow up comment from the same author that I will address in a later post. The thing that struck me initially about this comment, however, was its similarity to another (long) comment I had seen on another site regarding hospitalization, et al:
I was diagnosed with ASPD in 1992, by a psychologist who gave me a "very poor" prognosis, automatically, due to the diagnosis. It took me over a decade to find a therapist who would actually treat me! Most took one look at my records and dumped me on the spot, because of the stigma attached to such a definition. "Doesn't ASK for help"???? HAH!!! How would they KNOW??? I was asking for help, for certain, but no one was listening. One of them actually said "You don't need a therapist, you need an EXORCIST!" Another threatened to call the cops, and I hadn't done anything! Still another called me "scary and dangerous" and instructed security to bar me from re-entering the building. Later she told a social worker that my EYES had scared her "half to death". Right, like I was giving her the "evil eye" or something. Give me a break. So much of it is just because of words: a label. I had a brief inpatient visit this Spring, partly because of this very same issue. I started shouting sarcastically in the middle of a psych-eval interview, "So, you all agree?!! Oh, WOW, watch OUT!!! I'm a PSYCHOPATH!!! I'm going to destroy the WHOLE WORLD!!!" at the top of my lungs. Not the best idea. I didn't exactly get my true point across. And I discovered that some shrinks just don't have a sense of irony at all; so, of course, I ended up getting committed. And during my stay, another patient, obviously of superior CONSCIENCE, tried to beat me with her Bible, to "get the devil out" of me! The nurses automatically accused me of lying about everything, no matter what the issue, and they kept yelling at me because they were constantly suspicious that I was "up to something". And of course, they just HAD to put me in a room alone; fine by me, if somewhat insulting. Did they think I was going to EAT a roommate?? Or maybe just LOOK at them -- because I started getting that business again from some of the patients and even staff, about giving them the so-called "evil eye" -- whatever. What do they see in my eyes??!! It's too much. Just everything. I'm sick of being treated like a female version of "Jason" or "Freddie"! People look at my psych records and get all these weird ideas, and they expect a cinematic show. Oh, and if I cry or show the slightest bit of pain, no way does anyone believe it's real; I'm automatically attacked for trying to put one over on someone with my "dramatic performance". So. I'm giving psychotherapy one last shot, with a therapist who can look me in the eye without suddenly turning into a panicky wreck. I guess that makes her special. That and the fact she sees me as just another human being, not a freak or "monster" or vessel of "pure evil," as I've been called. But now I finally believe that I'm not "sub-human". I've had extensive neurological testing, and I've been told by several specialists that parts of my nervous system are messed up. I sustained substantial trauma to the head as a child. Meanwhile, as I'm struggling through all that, plus (and especially) the emotional and cognitive aspects of my illness, it seems to me that the rest of the world is having a party to which I am always uninvited. I feel that way because they share things I will never know. Ever, as long as I live, no matter how much progress I do manage to make. Accepting that is very hard. Up until very recently, my hatred for the world was formidable. BUT one thing is vital to remember: IT WAS NEVER MY CHOICE to be as I am. People need to be aware that mental illness is first and foremost a PHYSICAL thing. No one CHOOSES to develop any form of it. The human brain is still a largely unfathomed territory. Less blame and judgment, more science and intervention, would go a long way toward preventing or at least much better management of disastrous illnesses such as mine. Hollywood shouldn't dictate all that people know about such things. Well, anyway. I just thought it was a good idea to offer another person's point of view. And, YES, I am a person, not an "it". Despite numerous protests to the contrary. So many people have called me "evil" -- if I believed it all, I'd end up committing suicide. Although the damage that was done to me so long ago, and what I was born with, cannot ever change, a lot can. I have already changed enough to be able to do something like writing here! Now all I want is to move as far beyond my staggering limitations as I possibly can do. I want a life. I live in self-imposed exile, isolated and reclusive. And yet, when someone tells me I'm "hopeless," it only makes me more adamant about breaking free of the mental cage in which I've spent my whole life -- so far. Statistically speaking, my expected lifespan might fall twenty years short of the general average. But I intend to defy that, too. I'm in great pain now, psychologically, because I'm facing things that are quite horrifying to remember, and it is necessary. But in spite of that, I am starting to conceive of having something worth living for...and THAT is brand new for me. One thing I never forget: "When you're going through hell, KEEP GOING!"
The primary lesson to be learned from this comment, I think, is never disclose to anyone that you are a sociopath, and for sure don't yell about it in the middle of a crowded room. For the high-functioning sociopaths among us, I think it is hard to even want to care about those of us who end up in prisons and hospitals. We want to believe that it is their fault--that they give the rest of us a bad name. But sometimes I really do wonder whether we disown them out of fear because we don't want to acknowledge that there could be a prison term and/or hospital cell in the future for every one of us.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Raised right

From a sociopathic identifying reader about how, growing up, her parents actually allowed her to be who she is:

I've been reading your blog for some time now, in addition to reading your book when it came out, and love how you take things on, in a way that reads quite a bit how I would do it. I'm a sociopath as well and found much  in common with you.

Growing up I was different from early on, I didn't cry like other girls, didn't get upset by the usual things, though on the other hand my patience would wear very thin for a young girl and along with it my ability to tolerate waiting and such. Beyond that I did well in school and did usual stuff like dance lessons. One thing that set me apart from other girls, indeed kids in general, was that I was able to observe people and pick up on how they talked, who paid attention to who and what attention was paid to who. 

Owing to my achievement at school, I did well without even really trying, my lack of emotional meltdowns and my ability to talk to those older than me and offer up things a girl of 7 or 8 wouldn't ever be expected to, an interesting but very advantageous thing happened. I was seen as being grown up for my age and what's more because of that not just a good girl but a girl who couldn't do any wrong. After all if I'm so smart and so grown up then I must know so well how to behave. So even before I ever actually created my outward mask to show people, one was put upon me. 

And this is where the issue of environment comes in even more. I grew up in a well to do suburb and since it was fairly settled down people it's the sort of place where not only do you know your next door neighbor, you know the neighbors across the street etc. So it was a place where people just socialized a lot which fed my observing. Also it was a place where at least among the adults everyone was fairly smart and most had degrees to match. Being that smart people who generally like their lives and what they do like to talk about what they do and what they like, I found another benefit. No matter how far my questions about things went, no one ever thought it too out of place. 

So I was in an environment where a fair bit of my early sociopathy didn't stick out or raise any eyebrows. Also since I was decided to be a good girl, I had it very easy getting away with things. Get a kid to do something and they get caught? Saying I told them to do it would just get them in more trouble. After all I would never tell someone to do something bad. Of course I seized on this and made the most of it. Even when a few times I'd get asked about something, no one ever doubted I was speaking the truth when I said I had no idea about it. It never occurred to anyone I was lying through my teeth. 

Now the other issue is, my parents. They had me quite young, indeed not only were they not married, they were barely dating. However as luck had it they found they were an ideal pair for each other. Even if I came along well before either expected being a parent, there were no negative consequences for me. Unlike some I never experienced neglect, abuse or anything that would show a sign of being a trigger of my sociopathy, as far as anyone could tell I was just born this way. I also never experienced any sort of lack of stability early on. My parents' parents made sure everything was taken care of and any help my parents needed was always there. 

As for my parents they found themselves with a daughter that wasn't a challenge exactly but was different. They noticed my lack of crying and getting upset about usual things but given I appeared otherwise normal they just figured I grew out of it.Though eventually they noticed that I wasn't just not getting upset at usual kid stuff I wasn't reacting emotionally to much of anything. But they figured it probably just a matter of adjusting. After all a 6 year old can't be expected to really process some sad news story on TV. Also I wouldn't appear to get as outwardly excited about things like Christmas and I didn't seem to have much feeling to saying things like "I love you".

Then as my ability to observe people became more and more apparent and with it my ability to engage people in ways beyond my years they did start thinking I was deeply different. There was also my lying but since it was on the level of telling a friend my mom said I could come over, well doesn't every kid do that? Then eventually my mom pieced together a few things and realized I was not just different but different in ways that were not exactly usual. Namely by watching my reaction to a few things, some that happened in person others that I saw on TV, she recognized I not only didn't feel bad for people in pain, I seemed to enjoy it. Indeed during one relevant TV news story she asked why I was smiling and I said I liked it, that it was cool. At this point you'd expect mom and dad, who was told, to promptly flip their shit. Their smart and grown up for her age daughter isn't just different, but at 8 she's showing signs of no empathy, no remorse and sadism. But they didn't, since I wasn't hurting people actively well let me be and just address things if need be.

Then there was, at 9, my swearing which was handled by saying that if I promised to only do it at home I could do it. Plus there was my total lack of sense for any social boundaries, I had no problem not only talking to anyone but just coming up to someone and asking whatever I wanted. Also owing to all my observations of adults I questioned a lot about how things work and are ordered. That  came together to make me rather displeased with the idea that at 10 I had to somehow dress my age, why when I'm aware of things as I am do I have to try to act and dress like someone I'm not all the time?

My parents' reaction was to deal with me as not what I should be but who I was. Instead of trying to impede me or try to get me to be what I wasn't they just let me be. Mom agreed that yes having rules that apply to every girl my age like they were all the same was silly. So she'd let me get clothes that maybe weren't "age appropriate" and then take me out wearing them. Sure some people might give her looks, but she would rather be who she felt I needed instead of who someone else might think she'd need to be.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Everybody's different

This was an interesting story from an older Mormon prophet, Joseph Fielding Smith, about difference:

We need to appreciate and love people for themselves.

When I was a boy, we had a horse named Junie. She was one of the most intelligent animals I ever saw. She seemed almost human in her ability. I couldn’t keep her locked in the barn because she would continually undo the strap on the door of her stall. I used to put the strap connected to the half-door of the stall over the top of the post, but she would simply lift it off with her nose and teeth. Then she would go out in the yard.

There was a water tap in the yard used for filling the water trough for our animals. Junie would turn this on with her teeth and then leave the water running. My father would get after me because I couldn’t keep that horse in the barn. She never ran away; she just turned on the water and then walked around the yard or over the lawn or through the garden. In the middle of the night, I would hear the water running and then I would have to get up and shut it off and lock Junie up again.

My father suggested that the horse seemed smarter than I was. One day he decided that he would lock her in so that she couldn’t get out. He took the strap that usually looped over the top of the post and buckled it around the post and under a crossbar, and then he said, “Young lady, let’s see you get out of there now!” My father and I left the barn and started to walk back to the house; and before we reached it, Junie was at our side. She then went over and turned the water on again.

I suggested that now, perhaps, she was about as smart as either one of us. We just couldn’t keep Junie from getting out of her stall. But that doesn’t mean she was bad, because she wasn’t. Father wasn’t about to sell or trade her, because she had so many other good qualities that made up for this one little fault.

The horse was as reliable and dependable at pulling our buggy as she was adept at getting out of the stall. And this was important, because Mother was a licensed midwife. When she would get called to a confinement somewhere in the valley, usually in the middle of the night, I would have to get up, take a lantern out to the barn, and hitch Junie up to the buggy.

I was only about ten or eleven years old at the time; and that horse had to be gentle and yet strong enough to take me and Mother all over the valley, in all kinds of weather. One thing I never could understand, however, was why most of the babies had to be born at night and so many of them in winter.

Often I would wait in the buggy for Mother, and then it was nice to have the company of gentle old Junie. This experience with this horse was very good for me, because early in life I had to learn to love and appreciate her for herself. She was a wonderful horse with only a couple of bad habits. People are a lot the same way. None of us is perfect; yet each of us is trying to become perfect, even as our Father in heaven. We need to appreciate and love people for themselves.

Maybe you need to remember this when you evaluate your parents or teachers or ward and stake leaders or friends—or brothers and sisters. This lesson has always stayed with me—to see the good in people even though we are trying to help them overcome one or two bad habits. …

I learned early in life to love and not to judge others, trying always to overcome my own faults.

I think it's interesting the different reactions I have gotten from readers. Often they're positive, they agree that sociopaths are much maligned for just being a mental disorder that people don't choose to have and have very limited ability to change or even modify in themselves. And of course some people see sociopaths as subhumans that should be exterminated. Of course that will usually happen, a split of opinions on something, but the interesting thing is the reasoning. Often religion is used to justify both positions. Efficiency is used to justify both positions. Certain philosophies (e.g. utilitarianism) are used to justify both positions. What I learned in law school is that there are always two sides to every coin. The more you argue that certain people are worthless, the easier it is for those types of beliefs to become acceptable or even desirable as standing on good "moral" principles. The more those beliefs become acceptable, the more likely someone who is willing to act on those beliefs will come into power. The more people in power who are willing to act on those beliefs, the more risky it is for anyone to live in a way that is both different and authentic.

Why don't we just kill off all sociopaths? Maybe because like the horse Junie, the same traits that make them sometimes dangerous, obnoxious, disgusting, or reprehensible are also the traits that will promote survival and success for them and all those attached to them in certain dangerous, obnoxious, disgusting, or reprehensible situations.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Mental illness for children: Disney's Frozen

I have nieces that are obsessed with the Disney movie Frozen. I haven't actually seen it yet, but they have explained to me the entire plot and I have probably heard them belting out the Let it Go song a couple dozen times. The song is sung by Elsa, the older sister of Anna. Elsa was born different, had special powers that she didn't understand or know how to control. A primary plot point of the movie is watching how Elsa learns to how to become her best self.


Since I am Mormon, I've been also been exposed to the "controversy" of how this movie promotes the "gay agenda" by encouraging children to identify as being gay, which has been hilarious. But, as my sister said "I think it's actually about sociopaths," tongue in cheek. Not surprisingly, however, many people have made serious parallels to mental illness, particularly bipolar disorder:

Disney released a new movie called “Frozen” last month, and in doing so, has provided us all the chance to begin cultivating awareness. The movie showcases two main characters — sisters, Anna and Elsa. Anna is a warm, charismatic social butterfly; her sister Elsa, bourn of a darker nature, and though wildly charismatic too, grows up to be more cold and emotionally withdrawn. These two characters symbolize the conflicting dual-nature of my manic/depressive personality — manifesting the ongoing struggle always, to overcome the great force of inner darkness so that my inner warmth and goodness can shine on through.

Why is this such a big deal for children to have this sort of role model for mental health awareness?

For me, Elsa is an important character not just because she needs to learn to accept herself the way she is, but because the writers show through her just how devastating and terrifying it is to fear your own soul. There is no terror and sadness like that of thinking you are bad and you do not want to be. It leads to a type of self-sacrifice that actually makes you unable to heal. On accident, Elsa's parents taught her to be afraid of herself and the only way to protect others was to sacrifice herself. So she shut herself off from the world, becomes filled with fear, and she never knows love and belonging.

Many people can relate to this archetype, especially people who have been physically or emotionally abused who were told they deserved the abuse because they were "bad" and that if they were just a good person then they would not get hurt. I am glad we finally have a character in mainstream media that shows how trauma can effect you and that bad behavior does not mean you are a bad person. (Which is why I love Elphaba from Wicked and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast.) My son says the most important line in the movie is in the song "Fixer Upper" that the trolls sing where they say: "People make bad choices if they're mad or scared or stressed." For some people if they are scared enough, even their ability to make a choice is taken away from them. I feel like this scene from the movie best shows Elsa's fear and how much she wants to never hurt anyone.

And these types of stories are one of the best ways to introduce children to these sorts of concepts, to teach them that there is nothing evil or insurmountable about mental illness, in themselves or in others. From G. K. Chesterton:

Fairy tales, then, are not responsible for producing in children fear, or any of the shapes of fear; fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon. Exactly what the fairy tale does is this: it accustoms him for a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors had a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear.

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Weak sense of self

A reader sent me this interesting lecture from Stanford Lecturer Kelly McGonigal about the neuroscience behind self-referential processing.  She sums up the main point of her argument thusly: "we carry the seeds of suffering in our own minds, primarily through the human mind's habit of carefully constructing and then rigidly defending a sense of self that is based on our preferences, our attitudes, our beliefs, and our personal stories and that it's this churning of the self machine that gives rise to so much of our daily suffering."




It discusses whether there is some way to have a self-awareness that does not engage the self-referential processing, i.e. an experiential self that is not based on the narrative of self-referential processing or the stories we tell ourselves, but rather is based on "the awareness of the constantly changing feelings, thoughts, and things going on in our environment".  The answer is yes, but only among people who are trained in meditation.  My personal experiences and anecdotal knowledge regarding sociopaths suggests to me that this would also include sociopaths, who naturally have a weak sense of self (see also here), and seem to experience self-awareness almost entirely as the experiential self, not the self-referential self (using her lexicon).

It's interesting too that this lecture was apparently given at a Buddhist conference.  I have never bothered to learn much about Buddhism, but people have frequently remarked here on how the sociopath's detachment from self and lack of anxiety regarding outcomes is what many Buddhists hope to accomplish in order to achieve Nirvana. And sociopaths just happen to be born that way.

Here's what the reader wrote:


There's 3 categories in the experiment:
1) non-meditators
2) recent meditators
3) experienced meditators


My understanding of what happens:
Category 1 feels the pain, then thinks "how long will this go on, why me? oh shit? get away, get away!"


Category 2 feels the pain and focuses on their breathing. They ignore the pain as best they can by focusing on something else. Meditation has given them the ability to concentrate, so they concentrate on something other than the pain.


Category 3 feels the pain and tries to feel and examine it as best they can. They are so busy doing that, moment by moment, they aren't thinking, "why me, how long will this go on" etc. because when they really focus on what they are sensing, as opposed to how things aren't how they would like it, they lose their sense of self.

Monday, October 13, 2014

Guilt vs Remorse - the Subjective Experience

From a reader:

Typical thing you'll read: "Psychopathic offenders do not feel any remorse for their crimes even if they admit guilt. That’s an important distinction."

This is a huge distinction for normal people. it explains why psychopathic offenders scare them so much.

How it happens: in the middle of a situation, I've got a choice to make. I can zig like everyone else or zag. Zigging will cost me, but it will be the socially appropriate thing. Most people will automatically zig.

I look at the situation and "do the math". I ought to zag. It is unsocial, but it will save me a lot of pain. Yes, there's uncertainty. If I get caught zagging, there'll be consequences. My future self will have to pay for them, and I can't know what they'll be - it won't just be compensatory damages, but a bunch of other stuff tacked on for having a bad conscience.

But on balance, zagging is the right thing to do. There's no doubt in my mind - zagging is "wrong" - as in, society defines it as "bad". But zagging, on balance, is the thing to do, because its expected value is so much higher, so I zag, doing it as best as I can.

This is me, in the clutch, doing the best job I can do. It also happens to be me doing something society calls "evil".

Immediately after, there might be some fear of getting caught. I'll think, "shit I just zagged. Catastrophe A, Catastrophe B or etc. might happen." I might feel some fear or even a little guilt - pangs of conscience. As in, I should have just zigged and saved myself the trouble."

Then I think, "wait a sec, pussy. You've got a decision to make. You zagged. That's in the past. RIGHT NOW, you've got a choice: stick with what you've done (and your future self deals with any consequences) or go confess and make amends. Are you going to make amends and pay up?"

The answer is generally, "no way." Not a chance in hell. It looks like I'm getting away with it, so there's no point to caving in now.

And confessing and making amends looks very risky, because I hurt someone else, and you never know how upset they'll get. If they are narcissistic, they may go out of the way to punish me. The overall liability is not just the damage done, but the risk to reputation caused by confessing, punitive damages for being immoral, etc.

A typical thought: as much as it sucks to be a victim of my zagging, it will suck for my future self to pay the price for zagging if I confess.

How do I feel about my past self - the one that did the act?

When I look back on the past, I might dislike myself a bit. But mostly I think, "at that time, I had the mind that I had. In that situation again, with that same mind, I'd make the same decision. I didn't choose my thoughts or impulses in that moment, nor did I choose to restrain or not restrain them. It just unfolded, like water going over a waterfall."

I look at others the same way. I don't see any free will. Go back far enough and I didn't choose to be born to my flawed parents, raised in such a way that I developed with shitty impulse control. But that's how it unfolded.

What's done is done. If the bill eventually comes due, my future self will have to deal with the consequences. Hopefully it will accept them with equanimity.

There's little to no remorse - but why should their be? I don't have "guilt" that the whites arrived in the New World and killed off the Indians. How else could it have possibly gone, given how the universe was back then? Similarly, I don't have guilt about my shitty actions; how else could it have gone?

Of course, having gone through an event like this, there's a lot of learning. The next time I'm in a situation where I have to choose between zigging or zagging, it is extremely likely I'll zag at the drop of a hat, and never look back. In fact, one will likely start to zag earlier and often, or with more flair. All the while, the guilt-like fear response gets more and more diminished. If one gets caught after a run of that, one gets no sympathy or compassion.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Nature vs. nurture

This New York Times article states the obvious -- bad parents can't take all the credit for good children and good parents can't take all the blame for bad children. Interestingly, it goes out of its way to say that bad behavior does not necessarily equal sociopathy:
“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” the patient told me.
She was an intelligent and articulate woman in her early 40s who came to see me for depression and anxiety. In discussing the stresses she faced, it was clear that her teenage son had been front and center for many years.
When he was growing up, she explained, he fought frequently with other children, had few close friends, and had a reputation for being mean. She always hoped he would change, but now that he was almost 17, she had a sinking feeling.
I asked her what she meant by mean. “I hate to admit it, but he is unkind and unsympathetic to people,” she said, as I recall. He was rude and defiant at home, and often verbally abusive to family members.
Along the way, she had him evaluated by many child psychiatrists, with several extensive neuropsychological tests. The results were always the same: he tested in the intellectually superior range, with no evidence of any learning disability or mental illness. Naturally, she wondered if she and her husband were somehow remiss as parents.
Here, it seems, they did not fare as well as their son under psychiatric scrutiny. One therapist noted that they were not entirely consistent around their son, especially when it came to discipline; she was generally more permissive than her husband. Another therapist suggested that the father was not around enough and hinted that he was not a strong role model for his son.
But there was one small problem with these explanations: this supposedly suboptimal couple had managed to raise two other well-adjusted and perfectly nice boys. How could they have pulled that off if they were such bad parents?
To be sure, they had a fundamentally different relationship with their difficult child. My patient would be the first to admit that she was often angry with him, something she rarely experienced with his brothers.
But that left open a fundamental question: If the young man did not suffer from any demonstrable psychiatric disorder, just what was his problem?
My answer may sound heretical, coming from a psychiatrist. After all, our bent is to see misbehavior as psychopathology that needs treatment; there is no such thing as a bad person, just a sick one.
But maybe this young man was just not a nice person.
For years, mental health professionals were trained to see children as mere products of their environment who were intrinsically good until influenced otherwise; where there is chronic bad behavior, there must be a bad parent behind it.
But while I do not mean to let bad parents off the hook — sadly, there are all too many of them, from malignant to merely apathetic — the fact remains that perfectly decent parents can produce toxic children.
When I say “toxic,” I don’t mean psychopathic. . . .
I often tell readers that not every asshole ex of theirs is a sociopath, and the same applies for misbehaving children. In this situation, though, I actually think it is foolish to discount the potential role of sociopathy. There is a strong genetic but weak environmental link to sociopathy, which is consistent with having two normal sons and one sociopathic one. Furthermore, although inconsistent discipline may not be enough to cause anyone to become a sociopath, it could trigger sociopathy in someone who was genetically predisposed to it, as sociopath children are particularly sensitive to incentive structures and perceived fairness (i.e. consistency and reciprocity). I obviously don't know the full story, but just based on the article, the description fits sociopathy, at least for this kid.

After spending time with my family recently, I am more convinced that nurture had a significant role to play in my development into a sociopath. When people ask me whether I had a bad childhood, I tell them that it was actually relatively unremarkable, however I can see how the antisocial behaviors and mental posturing that now define me were incentivized when I was growing up -- how my independent emotional world was stifled and how understanding and respect for the emotional world of others died away. Still I don't think I was "made" into a sociopath, nor was I born one. I feel like I was born with that predisposition, that I made a relatively conscious decision to rely on those skills instead of developing others, and that the decision was made in direct response to my environment and how I could best survive and even thrive in that environment. It's a bit similar to this author's description of her own survivalist adaptations:
If you’ve read much about writers, you know that many of us grew up with an alcoholic parent or in some otherwise dysfunctional home. Me, too. Kids who are raised in households where feelings of safety and predictability are up for grabs might be more likely to turn into storytellers. We spend a lot of emotional energy trying to guess what might happen next, and mentally drawing up different contingency plans. It puts us in the “what if” habit early.
Genetics are important for sociopathy, but environment plays a crucial role as well. Although the NY Times article notes that "[f]or better or worse, parents have limited power to influence their children," such that they should be reluctant "to take all the blame — or credit — for everything that their children become," unfortunately (or luckily?) they can still take quite a bit of blame (or credit) for sociopathic children, particularly with new "studies suggesting that such antisocial behavior can be modified with parental coaching." Knowledge is power.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Child custody fights (part 1)

One of my readers has been going through child custody issues with her sociopathic ex and father of her child. It's an interesting subject, and I do believe that there are pretty common mistakes that empaths predictably make. About the topic generally, this lovefraud post is actually sound advice. But for a more personal angle, I asked my reader to write her story summing up some of the advice I had given her and how she applied it to her particular situation:
How do you deal with a sociopath when he's fathered your child?

It wouldn't be such a big deal if there wasn't so much at stake. Sure, there's the whole business of my heart. He didn't just break it, he masterfully chiseled at it until there was nothing left. I hardly knew I was being tormented as he romanced me into insanity, literally through hell and back. But that's another story for another time. The end result was that I finally left with what shreds of dignity I had left. I was three months pregnant.

Our relationship was convoluted with other women, one of whom he married around the time I was about four months along. She never knew about me, much less the impending baby.

When my daughter was born, I filed for child support, confident he would not pursue visitation in order to protect both his marriage and reputation in his community. He is a charming, executive director of a well-known non-profit organization and is socially active in his town. This, I believed, was my leverage. I would soon learn that when you choose to engage in battle with a sociopath, nothing is what it appears to be, and you have to step into his world, his rules, his games. It is not for the weak or faint of heart. You have to be strong, have an undetectable poker face, and be ready to call bluff when the timing necessitates (but be ready for the consequences of calling bluff - it will generate a strong reaction from your sociopath, which is not advisable when children are involved).

But...

It is also a delicate balance of knowing just exactly how far to push, and when to give in. I learned the hard way that you absolutely never, ever let a sociopath know what your vulnerability is. This seems like a no-brainer, but for me, the fear was all to real when he began to threaten me with visiting my infant daughter. Mistake Number One. It would prove to be a fatal mistake that would be difficult for me to overcome and regain my footing. I learned it became easier for me if he underestimated me. So I played the light-hearted airhead. Absent-minded, not a care in the world. This worked for a while. When it came closer to our court date, he pushed more and more to see my daughter. I told him he was more than welcome to stop by. And then I would inquire innocently how his wife was doing. This was just subtle enough to make him gently back off. We did this for a while until we met in court.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

The meaning of life (part 1)

A reader asked:

Hey dude, you know what would be interesting? An article about how sociopaths deal with boredom. What is boredom for a sociopath, why is it that it is so hard to deal with it and what do we do to not get bored. I am also curious about it. Thing is i am scared of the emptiness within myself. it's like when i was younger i used to have all these feelings that managed to keep me from getting bored by myself, you know, i had a way to meditate. but now whenever i am alone all i can sense is an empty space and for some reason i feel scared about it. it's like if i don't hold tight onto something i might fall into emptiness and never come back, dunno exactly. anyway, it's that emptiness that i want to know more about and how to deal with it.
Good question. I address this issue a little bit in this post. I was sort of made fun of for it in the comments of this post.

The human psyche really is so fragile. We lie to ourselves all the time about our existence and the meaning of our existence, like my recent post about free won't. Ignorance really is bliss in a lot of ways, but no matter how we try, we end up catching glimpses of the meaningless of life. I don't know why, really, but your question reminded me of Clive Wearing, a former musicologist, now the most severe form of amnesia ever documented. Every minute or so, he forgets absolutely everything and experiences a feeling of being born ex nihilo -- as if he never existed before, but now suddenly he does. He keeps a journal in which he writes over and over again, "I'm awake! For the very first time!" "I'm alive! For the first time!" "This is the first moment of my consciousness!" I think about him sometimes and wonder whether his life is horrible or wonderful.

What do you think about the subject?
I read the post and i think you are kinda right. That's how i feel, like living in a foreign country, gazing at the view but not being able to make any real interaction with the environment. I have been recently diagnosed with immature behaviour by a psychiatrist because i can't really make real progress in getting more mature, and i have to because i just dropped out of college because i was getting bored. Now i have to start all over again cause i don't want to skip college. I think it's true what you say about our meaningless existence also. I keep lying myself with fantasies about me being some kind of "chosen to do great" like that harry potter thing you talked about but i can see through the fog i create that i could also be a looser like everyone else. The "bad" thing is that realizing that i am just like everyone else doesn't change me. It's like i can't accept it willingly. I go on doing what i do and i feel kinda bad cause my psyche doesn't want to stop playing and realize that it has to get it's ass to work. Guess this unchangeable emptiness is something i have to get used to and work myself off to start doing some actual work. Guess this is why i reminded you of that amnesia guy. No matter what i do i can't change my perception upon life. I am still a kid even though i am 19.

About what you asked, i think he is having a good life feeling the beginning of his existence all the time like that. If he doesn't remember and the thrill keeps coming and coming i think he lives kinda happy all the time. Even though if someone explained to him his condition from a to the z, i think he would be kinda sad but not for long, right? Reminds me of the movie "First 50 dates" with adam sandler. If the people around him keep his illusion alive he doesn't have any reason for which to be unhappy and i guess that is all that matters. Sure, he won't do anything with his life being stuck in that loop hole but for him it doesn't matter, right? If i get to think of it he could be unhappy if he realized at the end of the loop that he is loosing his memory. That would be a moment of unhappiness, which would only make his existence pitiful but not horrible. Is pity a feeling a sociopath would feel? Hm...

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Being told you're a sociopath (part 2)

(cont.)

As I asked myself these things, another realization came to me.

I was born with severe astigmatism. We know now, that I hadn’t been able to see much of anything for the first years of my life. But back then, nothing was out of the ordinary. I thought I was perfectly normal and so did the people around me. It wasn’t until I started reading, writing, and watching TV. My parents noticed how I would sit right up to the screen, and burry my nose in the paper to read or write. Still, I was completely oblivious. My world was the blur that it had always been. Then, one day, my mom picked me up early from school and said we were going to the doctors. On the way, she asked me if I could see. I told her that of course I could. She stopped by a red octagonal sign and asked me to read what it said. I told her it didn’t have any words on it.

I got glasses a week later and I’ve been wearing them ever since.

The point was that I didn’t know what my mother meant when she asked me if I could see before I got to wear glasses and truly see the world for the first time. I didn’t think that the world could be anything other than what my eyes had always told me it was. Nothing could have suggested otherwise because I had no idea what the word “see” really meant.

Which is what I think happened with the word “sociopath.” How could I have connected the dots and seen such a thing in me if the word had no meaning for me? Only now, years later, do I look back and laugh at all the times I would get into social pitfalls and awkward situations because I had no clue what was wrong with the people around me. I see now it was me. I would focus, like you, on all those little moments when I had convinced myself I was normal. Back then it was the world that was different and full of crazies.  

Reading your book was like a revelation. That mask of normalcy you speak of, only now do I realize how hard, how draining it had been to keep up pretenses for so long! But because I had never really considered it a mask at all, having it fall now became this boulder crashing off my shoulders. Every smile, every forced emotion, was like I was trying to pick up that boulder and toss it back on me.

Granted, I’ve been slowly getting my game face back on. It’s been getting easier to regress into the comfortable routine I had so mindlessly gone through for years, but I know I can never be the same. Just like seeing the world through glasses for the first time, clear and definite, I have now seen behind the curtain of my own self-deception.

Whether an actual doctor will diagnose me as a sociopath I don’t think I will ever know. I have no intention of going to a therapist or talking to someone about this and, even if I am ever forced to, I’ll lie my way out of it with a clean bill of health.

The only person that will probably ever hear this story, or know what I have gone through for the last few months, is you. I had to tell someone, and you were the only one I knew I could tell. I don’t need confirmation from you about what I am, although your opinion would be much valued. Like I said in the first paragraph, just a reply would be nice so I know you are real and not just a book and a website.

It's interesting how similar this story is to my own story and others that I have heard. The first time I really thought about what the word sociopath meant, I was in my early twenties. I was doing a summer internship with someone who became a fast friend. It was very similar to the class about Evil -- she was very interested in theology and Mormonism, so I told her all of my opinions on morality and she told me I really should consider the likelihood that I was a sociopath. When I looked up what the word meant, I immediately recognized certain aspects about me, but there were other things that didn't seem to quite fit. I didn't really identify with the label right away, or at least I had my doubts. In the five years or so after that informal diagnosis and before my official diagnosis, however, I became better able to assess not just my own behavior, but to better understand the behavior and motivations of empaths. There were many things I shared in common with empaths, particularly superficial similarities. But I slowly started to realize that even though I often had similar behaviors to empaths, my motives were very sociopathic. And seeing things in that way was very similar to having my vision of myself and others suddenly coming into focus. 

Does anyone else have a similar story?

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Book appendix (part 5)

(cont. from interview with my mother):


Sometimes I feel guilty for it because I know I was gone, being on the stage and trying to figure out what would bring happiness in my life and I was gone way too much. I should have been home more and keeping tabs on things.  

I know you were always closed off, like affection.  You weren’t ever very affectionate, as far as hugging.  You were kind of closed off emotionally.  I don’t ever remember you crying.  Instead of you being sad, you usually chose to be angry.  That was your emotion of choice.  It seems like when you got angry, you would just get in someone’s face verbally and then you would try to get that person to have their own emotional explosion.  I remember you would try to push dad’s buttons and get him to get really mad.  It’s almost like you liked the emotional turmoil of anger and every now and then you would feed into that and make it happen.  Then things would calm down, until they would build up again.  But I don’t know. Dad was like that too.  But it seemed like you and he butted heads a lot.  I don't remember you ever being sad or hurt.  Even when you were in the hospital with the physical hurt, you weren’t crying or sad.  You know, like a normal person would do.  Especially girl.  You know teenage girls, they would cry over stuff, be hurt or have their feelings hurt.  I don’t remember you ever being like that.  So you were definitely not the typical teenage girl.  I think that’s why you didn’t have a lot of teenage girl friends. Most of your friends were boys, maybe because you related to them a lot more.  Boys aren’t very emotional, they’re more thinking.   

I think you have a little ADD.  It’s hard for you to focus on one thing at a time.  You have to be doing like 3 things at once, even in church you’ll be doing multiple things.  You can’t focus on one thing at a time, or at least not for very long.  But I also think you’re always just thinking about things and wondering about things, so something will catch your interest and you’ll want to explore that.  You’re kind of an explorer type of personality; you like to explore new and different things.

In the way that you did far more and went far more than any of the other kids, that was a little bit of a surprise because I don’t think it was anything normal. You were like super child, going out and doing things far beyond what was expected.

I don’t think you’re trying to corrupt people, but I think you like to do things for shock value—just throw things out there and see how they land, see how they would fly. So I think I was a little uncomfortable with your influence over your younger siblings. I think you’re influential. Sometimes I see the whole family bending to what you want to do and I think we have set you or accepted you in that role of figuring out what we want to do or how we are going to do it, and I think we enjoy that. And I don’t think you carry it too far either. I don’t think you’re too pushy about it. But you are definitely a natural born leader. I think that’s what makes you such a good teacher. I think you’re influential because you’re smart and determined and passionate about the things you want to do, and I think people tend to want to follow someone like that. I think the family follows you because we know you’re smart and efficient and you can figure out probably the best way of doing things and you have novel and fun ideas. You’re always full of ideas. And you’re always coming up with good ways of solving problems or making things happen smoothly.

I remember one time when I was super proud of you, singing this particular song I like. That was a proud moment because you were just up there saying I’m my own person, I don’t care what other people do to me, I’m going to live my life the way I want to.  And I was just proud of you for that.  I don’t think I’ve ever been that way.  I’m getting to be more and more that way, but I used to not be.  I used to be codependent, trying to manipulate people from the wings but never really voicing my opinion and saying what I wanted, what I needed.  I was always kind of in the shadows.  That’s why I liked the stage I think, because I could be somebody else, another person.  And I was good at it and people thought I was wonderful, so I think that’s why I kind of got addicted to the stage.  

I think the book is kind of cool.  I see it as another step in your healing and becoming more your own person.  Kind of dealing with all of the stuff that’s happened to you and figuring out who you really are.  I think the book is part of this process.  

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