Feb. 3: I'm pretty sure I'm a sociopath
I was watching this episode of
Dr. Phil once and he was interviewing this lady who had written a book
about being a sociopath. I don't think Dr. Phil liked her. I don't like
Dr. Phil's mustache. I bet he eats lots of peanuts.
There is a difference between sociopaths and psychopaths. Psychopaths have no moral compass and zero empathy. They will lie, cheat, steal and manipulate to get whatever they want. They are impulsive, prone to sudden acts of violence, and live parasitic lifestyles. They cannot hold jobs. Instead, they tend to spend their lives wandering - jumping from one person to the next until they die or get tossed in jail. Sociopaths are more methodical. If they want to commit a crime, they'll plot it out. They won't just go out and do it.
I think I went to acting school with a psychopath. He used to steal cars and he would always walk out of restaurants without paying for his meal. He held a half dozen waiter jobs but would up losing them all within three days. Once he screamed at one of our fellow classmates because she told him she was going to stop driving him to school everyday. I think he is jail now. I liked him. But that was before I knew he was a psychopath.
In acting school, our teacher assigned us to research a crazy person and then portray that person in front of the class. I had a book called Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us. It was written by a psychologist named Robert D. Hare, who was born in Calgary, which is the greatest city in the world. I read the book and decided to play a guy who met a woman in England. Within a week he had not only moved into her apartment, he was also using it as a storehouse for stolen electronics. It wasn't much later that he fenced everything in her apartment, emptied her bank account, and then threw a murderous tantrum because she'd asked him if he'd mind going out for ice cream.
I played him and I think I scared one of the actresses in the class.
*
I've been to see psychologists a few times. The first was in Grade 5 after I'd developed an unhealthy fascination with death. My psychologist's name was Dr. Terry Pezzot-Pearce. I imagine her name is still Dr. Terry Pezzot-Pearce. She had giant tinker toys and plastic knights' armour and a game of Mastermind in her office. I availed myself of all these things while I talked to her.
I saw her again in Grade 10. I remember feeling a little embarrassed that I had to see a psychologist and I told my friend Cade about it and he told me not to worry, that everyone was weird but some of us just had to get our weirdness directed in a good way. I wonder if he remembers telling me that.
By the time I got to college, I was pretty messed up. I thought there was something wrong with me. Once I told a fellow student: "I'm pretty sure I'm a sociopath."
I wasn't a sociopath. I was just pissed off because it had taken me two decades to realize that success only comes with hard work.
*
There are days when I actually think I might be a sociopath.
I was sad when 9/11 hit, but I didn't cry. Somehow I was able to keep my cool all day long while people around me were imploding. I didn't cry when my son was born. Sometimes I cry when I read some of my old writing. This pisses me off. I only cry when I'm congratulating myself for being a narcissist.
Actually, I read that there is a form of sociopathy called reputation-defending sociopathy, which is basically pure narcissism. I am probably a narcissist. You have to be a narcissist to write a note a day everyday and then not be able to sleep at night because you wonder how many people will have reacted to it the next morning.
I want some milk.
*
Lots of people called me on 9/11. My mom called and I told her I was doing fine. I think I told her I was surprised but not shocked. I'd long known that there is no limit to human depravity. Sometimes I have to remind myself that there is also no limit to human goodness.
I was part of an acting discussion group on usenet. On 9/11, I logged on to see how the New York-based actors were doing. I was surprised when one of the group's most in-your-face narcissists was suddenly quoting Christ: "You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come."
*
This morning, I ate one of those candy Lik-M-Aid things at the office. When we were kids, there were only two flavour packs. Today there's three. The grape is my favourite.
*
I have found the name of the book that was featured on the Dr. Phil show. Confessions of a Sociopath. Its author is M.E. Thomas - a pseudonym. Why would a sociopath need a pseudonym? He (or she) wouldn't care about hurting other people's feelings. They would, however, want the world to hear about their awesomeness - something which pseudonyms do not provide.
The book was reviewed in The New York Times Sunday Book Review by a psychologist named Jon Ronson, whose name consists of three syllables that rhyme. (I point this our because I'm funny.) In his review, JR gives me a clue about my own mental state - he suggests that sociopaths probably wouldn't be very good writers because of their lack of empathy, which is probably something writers not named Tony Robbins need.
I guess that means that if these notes bore you, it's probably because I am a sociopath.
*
All kidding aside, I know I'm not a sociopath. I know I have narcissistic tendencies (I dye my hair, I write a note every day and take pictures everyday just because I want people to comment on them.) But I am not Hannibal Lechter.
I am Shteevie.
And I want a glass of milk.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
There is a difference between sociopaths and psychopaths. Psychopaths have no moral compass and zero empathy. They will lie, cheat, steal and manipulate to get whatever they want. They are impulsive, prone to sudden acts of violence, and live parasitic lifestyles. They cannot hold jobs. Instead, they tend to spend their lives wandering - jumping from one person to the next until they die or get tossed in jail. Sociopaths are more methodical. If they want to commit a crime, they'll plot it out. They won't just go out and do it.
I think I went to acting school with a psychopath. He used to steal cars and he would always walk out of restaurants without paying for his meal. He held a half dozen waiter jobs but would up losing them all within three days. Once he screamed at one of our fellow classmates because she told him she was going to stop driving him to school everyday. I think he is jail now. I liked him. But that was before I knew he was a psychopath.
In acting school, our teacher assigned us to research a crazy person and then portray that person in front of the class. I had a book called Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us. It was written by a psychologist named Robert D. Hare, who was born in Calgary, which is the greatest city in the world. I read the book and decided to play a guy who met a woman in England. Within a week he had not only moved into her apartment, he was also using it as a storehouse for stolen electronics. It wasn't much later that he fenced everything in her apartment, emptied her bank account, and then threw a murderous tantrum because she'd asked him if he'd mind going out for ice cream.
I played him and I think I scared one of the actresses in the class.
*
I've been to see psychologists a few times. The first was in Grade 5 after I'd developed an unhealthy fascination with death. My psychologist's name was Dr. Terry Pezzot-Pearce. I imagine her name is still Dr. Terry Pezzot-Pearce. She had giant tinker toys and plastic knights' armour and a game of Mastermind in her office. I availed myself of all these things while I talked to her.
I saw her again in Grade 10. I remember feeling a little embarrassed that I had to see a psychologist and I told my friend Cade about it and he told me not to worry, that everyone was weird but some of us just had to get our weirdness directed in a good way. I wonder if he remembers telling me that.
By the time I got to college, I was pretty messed up. I thought there was something wrong with me. Once I told a fellow student: "I'm pretty sure I'm a sociopath."
I wasn't a sociopath. I was just pissed off because it had taken me two decades to realize that success only comes with hard work.
*
There are days when I actually think I might be a sociopath.
I was sad when 9/11 hit, but I didn't cry. Somehow I was able to keep my cool all day long while people around me were imploding. I didn't cry when my son was born. Sometimes I cry when I read some of my old writing. This pisses me off. I only cry when I'm congratulating myself for being a narcissist.
Actually, I read that there is a form of sociopathy called reputation-defending sociopathy, which is basically pure narcissism. I am probably a narcissist. You have to be a narcissist to write a note a day everyday and then not be able to sleep at night because you wonder how many people will have reacted to it the next morning.
I want some milk.
*
Lots of people called me on 9/11. My mom called and I told her I was doing fine. I think I told her I was surprised but not shocked. I'd long known that there is no limit to human depravity. Sometimes I have to remind myself that there is also no limit to human goodness.
I was part of an acting discussion group on usenet. On 9/11, I logged on to see how the New York-based actors were doing. I was surprised when one of the group's most in-your-face narcissists was suddenly quoting Christ: "You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come."
*
This morning, I ate one of those candy Lik-M-Aid things at the office. When we were kids, there were only two flavour packs. Today there's three. The grape is my favourite.
*
I have found the name of the book that was featured on the Dr. Phil show. Confessions of a Sociopath. Its author is M.E. Thomas - a pseudonym. Why would a sociopath need a pseudonym? He (or she) wouldn't care about hurting other people's feelings. They would, however, want the world to hear about their awesomeness - something which pseudonyms do not provide.
The book was reviewed in The New York Times Sunday Book Review by a psychologist named Jon Ronson, whose name consists of three syllables that rhyme. (I point this our because I'm funny.) In his review, JR gives me a clue about my own mental state - he suggests that sociopaths probably wouldn't be very good writers because of their lack of empathy, which is probably something writers not named Tony Robbins need.
I guess that means that if these notes bore you, it's probably because I am a sociopath.
*
All kidding aside, I know I'm not a sociopath. I know I have narcissistic tendencies (I dye my hair, I write a note every day and take pictures everyday just because I want people to comment on them.) But I am not Hannibal Lechter.
I am Shteevie.
And I want a glass of milk.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
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