Re-integration

I had a dream five summers ago. It was during a little bit of a hiccup in my therapeutic progress. Due to external circumstances that were particularly psychologically trying, I was "going through it," as the kids say. I felt like I had lost the sense of self and inward sense of forward motion and direction from therapy. I was lost to myself again. But mixed in with these feelings was relief -- relief that I once again was detached from my own emotions. I went back to my old habits. I manifested weak sense of self, chameleon-esque behavior, but that particular version that I always liked to think was "being on my best behavior." In other words, I was doing stuff just to get along with society and being a little more careful than usual to follow rules or social norms in order to keep things smooth in my life. I was no longer choosing to do things primarily as a true expressions of my identity. I kind of went through periods like this cyclically. I would blow up my life, people would bail me out, and for a short period of time I would feel like I needed to clean up my act. But I didn't really know what that meant, so mostly I just tried to force myself to be what others wanted me to be. This particular time, because of what I perceived to be expectations of my religious faith (and my family, who shares that religious faith) that I live in a very particular way and out of my desire to not rock anybody's boat, I was ready to live a cloistered life of hermitage rather than keep trying to be more authentically myself in a flawed and imperfect way. This was probably the peak of me thinking that I should try in every way possible to fulfill the expected role of legit Mormon upstanding citizen, whatever the personal sacrifice.

That whole summer I was plagued by depression, anxiety, and bad dreams, which led to bad sleep. I started to see a neurobiofeedback guy, who my mother had heard about and wanted her two most troubled children at the time (me and my little brother) to see during the summer while my brother was home from college. I called him my brain doctor.

When the brain doctor first mapped my base level EEG brain activity, he was so tactful and gentle trying to break the news to me that I had abnormally low activity in the areas of the brain associated with empathy. And perhaps because that was such a blatant lack, he always wanted to spend out sessions working on empathy. I always wanted to work on my sleep because the bad sleep and bad dreams were making me a little miserable. As part of that concern for my sleep, he had me keep track of my dreams, which is I think why I remember this one so vividly. I wrote about it a little at the time.

A bad guy (or multiple?) are after me for most of the dream. There are these government agent looking men (dressed in black, sunglasses, assault rifles) that are my security detail. The main bad guy gets caught. For some reason, he has hands that are like just flat circles, like the shape of a thick hamburger patty or pancake -- like a skin and flesh mitt that has been placed over his hands or that his hands have been burned and deformed intentionally that way by whatever "good guys" got him (cops? government agents? a private group?). His face is also deformed and scarred. His lips have been fused together so he can't talk. I thought in the dream -- this is part of his punishment somehow for being bad, that they tried to neutralize his ability to do harm while still allowing him to exist. He doesn't get locked in prison, though. Instead, he gets locked in a walk in closet in a master bedroom suite of what sort of looks like my parents' house. I'm also staying in the same house in another bedroom off the same hallway. Time passes and the men and black and I go to check on the bad guy, but he's not in the closet. Then I notice bloody footprints on the carpet. I immediately know who caused the bloody footprints, another bad guy that has no skin, just exposed flesh. I understood no-skin guy to also be in that condition somehow as a result of the government men. Based on the footprints, no-skin walked in the sliding glass door, walked to the closet, let out pancake hands, and appeared to be still in the house somewhere. So basically the one bad guy let this other out and now they're both on the loose. That's when I woke up.

The dream was such a great example of my typical bad dreams at the time. That summer, being asleep felt like it was the only time in any given day that I didn't have control over my thoughts and feelings and I didn't like it. I didn't want to be asleep because it didn't feel safe. I was afraid of where my mind went.

When I met with brain doctor next, we talked about the dream. He seemed to already understand what this dream likely meant in the context of me, but was asking me questions to see if I would come to see what he was seeing: "Who are the bad guys, aren't they just you? . . . . Parts of yourself that you've disassociated from? . . .  And figuratively castrated or mutilated so they have no say, no ability to do anything? . . . Stripped of any identifying features or relationship to you? . . . They're not looking for you to hurt you, but to be reunited."

And in that moment I knew he was right. When I saw the dream in that light, it was not scary at all. I felt so sorry for the bad guys. So sorry for what I had tried to do to them, unknowingly. I realized very naturally and without having to be prodded that these figures were not to be feared and opposed, they were to be embraced.

I don't know that I've ever experienced such a profound paradigm shift, or at least not so quickly or as obviously as in that moment.

That was the day that I finally gave up on trying to distort myself to fit some concept of what someone else wanted me to be. Because I saw it for it was, mutilation.

And I stopped having bad dreams after that because I realized that the things I feared had nothing to do with uncontrollable external forces and everything to do with me being wrong about what was best for myself and unwittingly self inflicting pain and attempting to live in a world of delusion rather than just seeing and accepting things as they really are.

For a while I was very deliberate about making sure that all parts of me found easy/daily self expression, even if it was just playing cheesy wedding music gigs or watching terrible movies. I wanted to regularly acknowledge and find expression for every aspect of who I am, never silence or disempower.

I think this is something that every body deals with (but especially the personality disordered). I really wish I could find this reference, I want to say it was Ta-Nehesi Coates, but he was describing how he saw his African American daughter gradually grow from being almost completely unaware of her African American status in the eyes of society, to gradually recognizing it, to gradually distorting her true self in response to the expectations -- either in defiance or compliance. We all distort ourselves a little bit. But it is not a good thing. It is the worst thing we can do to distort our essential identity. We shouldn't be doing it for any reason, not for any purpose, and never to please any person. But since we all do it, the good news is that we can re-integrate those parts of us that get lost along the way. We can re-familiarize ourselves with the aspects of our own selves that we have lost touch with. As someone recently told me going through a similar healing process: "I feel more like I have a way of thinking that is like my old self and my new self."

Finding a sense of self

In the book I wrote something like I identify more as being a sociopath than any other common identity characteristic, e.g. gender, race, nationality, religion, etc.

I was thinking about that as I read this when I was reading excerpts from the book In the Name of Identity : Violence and the Need to Belong, via Brain Pickings:

Identity isn’t given once and for all: it is built up and changes throughout a person’s lifetime… Not many of the elements that go to make up our identity are already in us at birth. A few physical characteristics of course — sex, color and so on. And even at this point not everything is innate. Although, obviously, social environment doesn’t determine sex, it does determine its significance. To be born a girl is not the same in Kabul as it is in Oslo; the condition of being a woman, like every other factor in a person’s identity, is experienced differently in the two places.

The same could be said of color. To be born black is a different matter according to whether you come in to the world in New York, Lagos, Pretoria or Luanda… For an infant who first sees the light of day in Nigeria, the operative factor as regards his identity is not whether he is black rather than white, but whether he is Yoruba, say, rather than Hausa… In the United States it’s of no consequence whether you have a Yoruba rather than a Hausa ancestor: it’s chiefly among the whites — the Italians, the English, the Irish and the rest — that ethnic origin has a determining effect on identity.

[…]

I mention these examples only to underline the fact that even color and sex are not “absolute” ingredients of identity. That being so, all the other ingredients are even more relative.

But why then did I not associate with all of those markers living in the same society as everyone else who had those markers? Why didn't I identify as female and white just like every other white female child of my generation in my general geographic location? It's like I was born with an odd sort of immunity to that sort of socialization. Or maybe it was some sort of child strategy or defense mechanism because in identifying with something, there is vulnerability. Which oddly explains mob mentality, at least in a way that finally explains it in a way that I can sort of understand:

People often see themselves in terms of whichever one of their allegiances is most under attack. And sometimes, when a person doesn’t have the strength to defend that allegiance, he hides it. Then it remains buried deep down in the dark, awaiting its revenge. But whether he accepts or conceals it, proclaims it discreetly or flaunts it, it is with that allegiance that the person concerned identifies. And then, whether it relates to color, religion, language or class, it invades the person’s whole identity. Other people who share the same allegiance sympathize; they all gather together, join forces, encourage one another, challenge “the other side.” For them, “asserting their identity” inevitably becomes an act of courage, of liberation.

In the midst of any community that has been wounded agitators naturally arise… The scene is now set and the war can begin. Whatever happens “the others” will have deserved it.

[…]

What we conveniently call “murderous folly” is the propensity of our fellow-creatures to turn into butchers when they suspect that their “tribe” is being threatened. The emotions of fear or insecurity don’t always obey rational considerations. They may be exaggerated or even paranoid; but once a whole population is afraid, we are dealing with the reality of the fear rather than the reality of the threat.

So is it possible that my weak sense of self and invulnerability to mob mentality are both tied to this odd immunity to identity socialization?

Interestingly my therapist is huge about identity, or maybe he's just huge with me because he knows that I have traditionally lived my life with much of a sense of self. The way he talks, it's as if reconnecting with my identity will be the panacea for essentially all of my primary psychological issues. That's easy for me to buy, at least enough to explore the concept more, because I've always thought that most if not all of my sociopathic traits stem from this inborn or very early acquired weak sense of self.

It's also another interesting example of how seemingly every human trait, and at least sociopathic ones, can be seen as an advantage or disadvantage depending solely on shifting contexts. Like the dark side of empathy, the weak sense of self has allowed me to be this chameleon teflon adherent of instrumentalism. Because I rarely care what others think, I've allowed myself to follow paths in life that are solely of my own choosing (as much as we have(n't) free will to choose).  But I can also see how it contributes to my sense of meaningless and emptiness, which in turn promote my novelty and stimulation seeking behavior, which often isolate me further from human connection.

But if I had to give any unsolicited advice to non-sociopathic readers, it would be to ask yourself why you're so keen to protect and rally behind socialization aspects of your identity that you would sacrifice other more core aspects of your identity, and all only because you've been programmed to think that you need to or it's the honorable thing to do. See somewhat relatedly, Tim Wu on why You Really Don't Need to Work So Much. 

Teenage sociopaths

From a reader:

About a year and a half ago, I stumbled across your blog - how, I don't recall. At 15, I had never heard the term sociopath before. The term psychopath had been thrown around, but I only knew the cliché version - sadistic, cruel, and with no emotional capacity. The type of person you wouldn't want to be alone with.

Reading about sociopathy was oddly fascinating to me. I found myself able to understand and relate more than I would have thought. The question has been tugging at me ever since: Am I a sociopath?

I recently purchased and read your book. I enjoyed it immensely, and while I could not identify with it 100%, which might be due to age and experience gaps, much of it struck a chord.

The weak sense of self was particularly relatable. I've always felt that "chameleon-ness", the ability to put on different personas without a second thought, and not feeling attached to any. Alone, I realize, I almost feel like a shell of a person. Without others to react to, there's not much of a "me". So for that reason, I like being around people. They give me substance.

The destruction of others has been a fun game for me. I know not to do it with my friends or family too much, since I'm likely to lose them if I do, or not get what I want out of our relationships. After all, I like my friends. They're funny, intelligent, and interesting for the most part. They're like puzzles that I'm trying to solve. But the thrill of destroying others is too much to resist. I have toyed with students I'm not fond of, turned people against certain individuals, tried to see if I could break a good relationship between a student and teacher once or twice. I don't think I've ever caused permanent damage. I just like the feeling of destroying something in the instant.

The last part I truly identified with was the attachment to family. Well, in a way. My mother and brother are too emotional and empathetic for me to relate to. They're mine, and I'd defend them if they were threatened, but saying I love them might go to far. My father displays sociopathic tendencies, though I don't know if he's one or not. What I mean to say is - I romanticize the concept of family. The concept of family lines is a beautiful thing. Which is why getting married and having children is something I am very interested in. I want to have something that is mine, to have an extension of myself.

The defining factor of a sociopath though, the empathy, is something I hesitate on. I'm only 17. While I can't think of a time I've felt truly empathetic towards another, that doesn't necessarily mean I can't. My emotions are egocentric, yes. I'm motivated by myself. I can logically understand emotions, but I don't connect with them. The worst thing people can do to me is cry. I don't know what to do, and I always feel like I'm just making it worse. Which means they cry longer, and I still have to feel uncomfortable/irritated.

My other hesitation with self-diagnosing myself is my emotions. I feel them, perhaps not as strongly as I should, especially the negative ones. But I feel happiness when doing something I like, frustration or sadness when something doesn't go my way. As for love... I don't think I've ever felt it, but it is something I want. I wonder if all sociopaths want love, though. It's a rather selfish thing, or so it seems. I want someone to possess, and I want the adoration that comes with being loved.
Part of me wonders if I'm too young to be a sociopath, truly, since I could still "change".

This has ended up being a larger email than I intended, and I apologize. I'm almost done.

What is your opinion on sociopaths and imagination? I don't just mean violent day dreams (who hasn't fantasized about slitting the throat of a rival?). I mean stories, like coming up with your own world, own plots, own characters. Not actually believing in them, but treating them like a book in your head. A distraction from boredom. I haven't seen anything on your blog about it, but could have just missed it.

My other question: do you think sociopaths are naturally curious? Or just people in general? In your book, you struck me as a curious person, but I may be wrong. I myself am absurdly curious, since knowledge can always indirectly affect or protect me. Truth be told, I am dying to know your name. But I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell me, and I'll live if I never learn it. Either way, I would like to thank you for your book. It was enlightening and fascinating.

My response:

I'm not sure if we have different imaginations or that we imagine vastly different things. Maybe we imagine things more explicitly and are more self-aware about it? Like I imagine in the ruining games that I've really seduced someone so much that they will never get over me, but who knows if that is really true. I also imagine what it might be like to be other people in the cognitive empathy sense. I also imagine ahead of time several strategic steps if I'm playing some sort of game or even in life, which makes me a good plotter, I guess.

I consider myself a truthseeker, although I'm not sure if there's complete overlap with curiosity. I have always thought that maybe it was because I grew up living in the warped reality of a narcissist and in a lot of ways also lived in my world of my own imagination in which I was this powerful figure, that I always wanted to be sure to distinguish between real life and make believe, unlike my father?

The natural born chameleon?

My friend recently told me, "I think it's funny that you are so impressionable, that you think of yourself as a void, because you are one of the strongest personalities I know. You are so distinctive and peculiar."

I could see what she meant. Everyone who knows me for longer than a few hours realizes that I am "quirky." I say all the right words and do all the right moves, but don't quite have the social fluency to seem completely normal. I can also be very lazy about maintaining a mask, particularly in low risk situations or with people who don't matter. Despite seeming distinctive and peculiar, however, I am still extremely impressionable.

Some of the psychologists that I have talked to via the blog have expressed surprise that I consider impressionability and the related weak-sense-of-self to be sociopathic traits. I don't know why they would be surprised. There must be some reason why we are so good at being chameleons, I always just assumed that it was instinctive, a symptom of who I am. Blending in has more or less been a reflex for me as long as I can remember, as it has been for most sociopaths I have known. For instance, this reader:

I moved a lot as a child. I knew how to adapt a fresh persona and ways to gain friends in an expedient fashion before I knew my long division. I also was obliged to lie, convincingly so, about who I was. For years I wasn't even allowed to use my own name and acknowledge where I was from.

When you speak of impressionability, that for me was sort of a survival tactic. America has many different cultural microcosms that vary so much, if they didn't speak English you'd guess it was a different country. I had to learn the local social norms and adapt to them quickly, and also their accents and local lexicon. Even more lizard-brain style mannerisms would be local, like specific body language gestures. In that case, I guess it isn't necessarily lizard-brain, but you understand.

I essentially spent years learning how to be other people. So much so, that I had no idea who I even was when I was allowed to be Me again. I still don't even know if I have a real Me. And it doesn't bug me, either, if anything, it entertains me.

I know for a fact that I did some very odd antisocial behavior, like practice emoting in front of a mirror, accents, etc. but when I was that age, I didn't realize that everyone came with their own emotional cheat-sheet, and I was the only one that had to study for the test.

When I read things like this or think back on my own early experiences, I wonder -- do we learn how to be chameleons? Is it learned behavior to subjugate who we "really are," perhaps as a survival tactic? And maybe after we've pretended for so many years we just forget who we used to be? Or are we born with our shapeshifting abilities? Maybe we're like liquids or gases, always taking on the shape of our environment. Because we do have some finite qualities, we just have no where near the rigidity of the typical empath.

Sociopaths = flexible sense of self

In response to this post, the following question from a reader:

What's up Me. I'd really love to know where you get your information from regarding the sociopath's flexible sense of self. I haven't come across any other material on sociopathology that describes this undefined underlying personality structure you talk about. I'd like to do some more reading about it.

Thanks again for the blog. It's been most illuminating.

My response:

You answered your own question before I got the chance to respond. As you have probably seen in your own research, the concept of a sociopath having an extremely flexible sense of self is not entirely original to me, but you were probably unable to find it stated outright (at least I have not been able to find such a clear statement) in any of the scientific literature. That shouldn't be surprising, though. The literature on sociopaths is quite terrible and almost always fear-mongering. Psychologists studying sociopathy focus on the symptoms rather than the underlying causes.Tthere is some work being done mapping brains of sociopaths, and that has revealed that the brain of a sociopath does in fact work in ways different than an empath's brain. Still, though, scientists seem more concerned with defining the characteristics of a sociopath based anecdotally on what a sociopath is not, e.g. how a sociopath differs from an empath behaviorally, rather than studying the sociopath for what he is -- a different human variant. This is the common complaint of the neurodiversity movement: stop seeing our variations from normal human behavior as symptoms of a defect, and start acknowledging that we have a separate but equal system of thought and survival.

But back to your question. I got my information from piecing together seemingly disparate elements of the literature on sociopaths in a way that conformed with my own personal experience . Psychologists see traits like "inability to conform to social norms," "lack of conscience," "chameleon-esque," "masked," "charming," "undetectable," and "versatility" and think that it is a hodgepodge of unrelated characteristics. They understand the "what," but they don't understand the "how." As you mentioned in your most recent comment, I believe the "how," the origin of many of our observed behaviors, is that we don't have a rigid sense of self, a characteristic that I believe you correctly label as one of the sociopath's defining characteristics, and if I may add, perhaps the predominant defining characteristic.

I'm glad you enjoy the blog. I enjoy your comments. And do let us all know if you find anything written on the sociopath's flexible sense of self.

Borderline personality disorder and sociopaths: one big empathy-challenged family

As sociopaths we all have a baby sister named Borderline Personality Disorder. (This woman has a real sister with BPD and wrote a book based partially on her experiences). I say sister because unlike sociopaths, who are primarily male, BPDs are primarily female. She's a little sister because on the danger/power spectrum of the empathy-challenged, she is closer to the aspie's and the autie's than the narcissists or sociopaths. But don't underestimate her -- she can be nefarious when she wants to be. Though she's more likely to steal a spouse than to steal $50B.

The BPD is a lot of things, but most interesting to me is the skill with which she sheds one skin after another. For narcissists the mirror is always pointed at themselves, but for BPDs the mirror is always pointed at others -- allowing those around them to see exactly what they want to see.* For instance, under the title Meet the Marriage Magnet, this self-confessed chameleon explains why she believes she received nine marriage proposals:

I was living like a trainee Stepford Wife

Young and still experimenting with my sense of self, I was happy to pursue their pastimes, agree with their politics, even wear clothes they liked.
***
Besides, I find it easy to understand other points of view or problems and I get close to people quite quickly. I'm always interested in other people's hobbies, families and their lives - I suppose that's why I'm a writer.

This intimacy can be misinterpreted for a lot, lot more than mere curiosity. My boyfriends assumed I was smitten with them because I fell into the habit of moulding myself into their ideal.

A similar character can be found in Edith Wharton's short story "The Other Two," wherein the third and current husband of Mrs. Alice Waythone encounters the first two husbands by chance and is distressed to discover that these men -- who share nothing in common with him -- each had a relationship with his wife quite similar to his own. As professor Cynthia Griffin Wolff puts it:

To each and every one of these three quite different men, Alice Waythorne had been the perfect wife: eager to please, ready and willing to adjust her behavior and desires to those of her husband. Gradually, as Mr. Waythorne lets this fatal knowledge penetrate his judgment, the very qualities he had most admired in his wife begin to seem grotesque and deformed. He wonders who she is, wonders whether she is anybody at all in particular. He marvels at her personality, "for it was an art, and made up, like all others, of concessions, eliminations and embellishments; of lights judiciously thrown and shadows skillfully softened."

I have a friend who was married to a woman with BPD and had a similar lament -- he never knew who she was, or if what she felt was real. It makes me wonder -- even if sociopaths became truly harmless, would we ever be accepted? Or do our neurological differences represent an unbridgeable divide between us and empaths? If a Stepford wife-type creeps people out, do socios stand a chance?


*sociopaths are probably best described as being behind a two-way mirror.