But they probably would better than anyone.
I don’t seek out an official diagnosis anymore because I’m worried about the repercussions. Who wants to be labeled in such a way that makes you an undesirable, an untouchable? Could it impair potential employment options? My defense in a criminal trial? Alimony payments? Custody of my children? There’s nothing that says I *must* be terrible, just because of who I am, no guarantee that I will wreak havoc or destroy everyone I touch. If I ever dissected an animal it was in the name of science and dead before I found it.
My mother started me on therapy when I was thirteen. A close family member had just died, and I was getting mixed up with some older boys. One night, I snuck out and did not return until the next day (I was held against my will and raped all night but I told my parents I was sleeping in a friend’s yard–they didn’t believe me at first, but by gum, I stuck to that lie for the next five-plus years and eventually, somehow I had been persistent enough in the lie and they came to believe it). That afternoon I was forced to see my first therapist. I bounced around with different therapists and doctors, always refusing medication until graduate school, when I had my first psychotic break and I decided I wanted nothing to do with that. The best Axis I diagnosis I’ve gotten is, “you have highs and lows, but you don’t go completely ‘Woo00OO00oo!'” Still, I take a mood-stabilizer, and responded well to an anti-psychotic a while back, but I gave it up when I started eating more fat and got happier (and lost weight, it’s awesome, you should try it).
I went to psychologist once to see if maybe he could help me and my fragile ego (I just got kicked out of school for being too fucking awesome), and he took me on for free. I was a little bit grossed out because he was about seventy-five years old and fat and ugly and kept talking about how *I* liked to “fuck”. Even I don’t really call it “fucking,” when I’m talking about it in terms of say, an acquisition I am looking to make, or someone/thing I did, I prefer “sex” or “sleep with” (in Swedish, samlag). It made me uncomfortable so I stopped seeing him. He diagnosed me as “borderline,” but I think more because 1) female sociopaths and narcissists are fairly rare, and 2) If *I* believed I was a “broken” and on the “borderline” of neurosis and psychosis, it would be easier for him to manipulate and abuse me. He was already unwilling to see me as strong as a man (sorry, I do think masculine emotions are far superior and I despise nothing more than weakness in men, although I am more forgiving of gay men, and of course I like butch lesbians quite a bit, whereas straight women, are, for the most part, the most horrible group of people I’ve ever encountered), and if “I cut myself a couple of times as a teenager” translates to “positively, definitely, borderline despite other indicators,” then I would have been an impossible mess of a woman, overly dramatic, and I’m sure, in his mind, a victim.
A lot of girls who have eating disorders cut themselves. I don’t know why, but the two are often comorbid. The reasons for eating disorders vary. Some girls hate themselves because they were abused. Some girls get involved in sports like gymnastics, wrestling, or crew, and unfortunately get tricked into it in order to achieve greatness in athletics–a positive goal at first (not to discount the men who get eating disorders, again often related to athletics or career choices before self-hatred). Then comes the cutting. At least in my experience, I did it out of boredom a lot of the time. I did, on occasion, use it to my advantage and to manipulate my boyfriend. But it was working for the other girls, so why not try it myself? The last time I cut myself I was 16. Shortly after that I started cheating on that boyfriend and stopped cutting myself. I learned a new trick.
Constantly needing your “narcissistic supply” can also make you appear borderline. But it’s not all about having them simply pay attention to me, I also want to play games with them. Make this one think he has a chance, take that one home, and then sleep with the guy who told you what happened when the other two found out and fought. I like a good mindfuck, but at least I do occasionally reward someone who has played the game well.
It’s like finding the key in your friend’s intestines.
I think I’m most likely a narcissist with antisocial traits as well. I’m grandiose, and everyone who knows me knows this, and I have a very hard time with empathy. The whole notion confuses me. The narcissist is supposed to be very manipulative, but also has no empathy. That’s impossible! How can one possibly be a master manipulator without being able to recognize and play on another person’s emotions? Yet, when people cry (especially on the phone), I get very disturbed. I don’t know what to do. I feel very uncomfortable and more than a little perturbed (seriously? here? now?). I read in an article on empathy that narcissists and sociopaths feel cognitive empathy, which allows them to recognize others’ emotions, but the narcissist is too busy caring only for herself to do anything with that empathy, and the narcissist recognizes them, but cares not if they hurt a person because, furthermore, they have no remorse.
I’d say I was a narcissist alone if I didn’t spend so much time thinking about slitting other peoples’ throats. That and I think “sociopath” sounds cuter than “narcissist”. I don’t know if I should really worry about where I fall in the spectrum. I figure I’m somewhere, and was always destined to be. My paternal grandfather was a psychopath. He went to prison and was diagnosed. My maternal grandfather, while never diagnosed with anything, was one of those guys who started families every few years in new towns. Easily a narcissist, maybe a sociopath. My father has his issues and has always given me weapons as gifts and lacks the ability to love and definitely has empathy issues. My mother is the lone good influence on me. She did pretty well, I think. I could be worse.
The reason I’m talking about this today is because a personality disorder is something that you have to keep hidden if you’re not around the people who love and, strangely, accept you for who you are. I’ve been listening to Mackelmore, and I thought, this might be how gay people felt only a few decades ago (and still, in some horrible places). Nobody can really tell just by looking at you (although they’ve done studies and people typically can identify homosexual people just from their picture), so you try to hide it to fit in, so no one judges you for it. Because remember, no one chooses this. It is an intricate balance between nature and nurture that made me this way. The wrong people exchanged chromosomes, then sucked at taking care of me, allowed me to be harmed, and then, voila, crazy and danger combine and grow up.
So, next time you revile a sociopath, think, for just a second, what kinds of horrible situations made them that way. And they can hardly help but recreate it most of the time.
“And I can’t change.
Even if I tried.
Even if I wanted to.”
loveablesociopath 