Confessions Of A Closet Sociopath

I am not sure how it happened or when it started. All I know is that I felt it coming on from the tender age of 18. I guess after years of adapting to mental abuse, being used, and being lied to was probably the catalyst to trigger off something that was already spawning inside me.

I am 38 now and have only recently come to terms with what I am—and to be honest, it does not bother me. This was not self-diagnosis but multiple visits to various psychologists and counselors to get a second, third, fourth, and sometimes a fifth opinion. I guess being in denial was the fact that being a sociopath has a stigma attached to it. To borrow the words from American Psycho, I just simply know “I” am not there at the best of times. Others have at times noticed a curious twinge I have and the atmosphere that I can create when entering a room.

I donate to various charities but at the same time I am least concerned about how someone feels after I have dealt with them. I laugh, smile, help out, and am friendly and well-educated.

Call me sinister, but it is what it is. The fact that I can hurt someone and not feel any remorse is probably one of my best “gifts” I have developed. I can lie with a straight face. I have duped psychiatrists to write me prescriptions for various drugs, sweet-talked women into sleeping with me, and even managed to talk people out of leaving their families and harming others. I do all this with a straight face and don’t feel guilty at all. I can keep a straight face through most scenarios. One psychologist who tried to analyze even stated that I made her uncomfortable and she had to request that a male nurse stays outside her office.

My days go on normally. I wake up early, feed my cats, and go to work. I finish at 5PM and go onto recreational activities to keep myself fit and healthy. However my thoughts do digress to:

1.

Planting drugs or alcohol in my colleague’s drawer and having him fired.

2.

Dousing the guy that cut me off in traffic with lighter fluid and setting him alight.

3.

Throwing acid in the face of a drama queen prima donna that I see at the mall.

4.

Flogging the Starbucks staff with a leather belt when they get my order wrong or spell my name incorrectly.

Again, these are just thoughts…and I have them plus a thousand more like them every day. I work in the oil industry, which as most of you probably know is going through some heartache. I secretly wish that lot of people in my company are made redundant and are forced to struggle.

Would they scream? Would they struggle and cry? Would they beat their spouses up in frustration? I am always eager to find out—the same way a scientist eagerly awaits his results from a botched experiment and doesn’t care about the outcome.

I have never carried out any thing mentioned above nor physically or psychologically harmed anyone, but I often wonder when I will and if I will ever be “upgraded” to a psychopath.

What makes me laugh is that at times I live a normal life in front of everyone, but if they knew the monster that was inside I am sure they would run away.

Will I ever live a “normal” life? Probably not. Will I ever meet someone who accepts me for what I am? Who knows? To be honest, I don’t care.