When you realize you (might) have the traits of a psychopath.

Since my early childhood, I have known I was different from other people. Of course there are nuts who will always be weirder than me (or you), which is kind of comforting. When I was young, however, there were not many youngsters who would play the role of a "strange kid" more convincingly.

I was extremely neurotic and absolutely hated being with other children. They just seemed too stupid, close-minded, and cruel to me. I remember standing in the middle of a playground, watching them from distance, longing to be accepted but at the same time absolutely hating the idea of even having to share the same space with them. Not because I thought I was better than them, and it definitely was not some kind of a territorial play. They just were not kind enough for me to really like them. I was severely bullied from the tender age of three or four. I don´t know why, and I bet my bullies would not remember it also. In fact, they don´t remember almost anything from that time, which seems kinda funny to me, as my own experience with them is seared in my memory forever. I was just different, and the other kids smelled it, just like dogs smell fear. And that was enough reason to beat me up. As a consequence, I developed a strong distrust towards other people and therefore society, which played a crucial part in the forming of my personality. It showed very soon; the kindergarten nurses were calling my mother on a daily basis to take me out. She is not a child fit for kindergarten, they claimed.

But my distrust towards anything alien was not the only thing that formed me. My father was, in the best and worst ways, the most important influence. Being a pathological narcissist with IQ 154, great cold-reading skills, a law degree from a prestigious school and limited empathy, he always prompted me and my sister to do our best. He would try our knowledge of history and geography, and if we didn´t know the answer, we were mocked for being stupid. We were rarely praised for our accomplishments; in fact, we were nothing special. After all, he managed to do the same AND then go to sports classes when he was just eight. Plus, he read up to 30 books per month, but a quality ones - Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Twain. What kind of a "pervert" reads The Lord of the Rings (he said)?

I remember feeling constantly heartbroken. I wanted to prove to my father that I was a worthy daughter (hello, Loki). As you expect, it was not working that much. It wouldn´t be fair to say that me and my sister were not praised or shown love at all, but it was not happening very often. I´d say that my father was - and still is - a person who does not know how to show love. And so I studied to show my intellectual prowess in order to gain my father´s love.

I was not a talented sportswoman like my sister (who was naturally smart but didn´t care about getting good grades at all), and so I went the opposite way. With the exception of science (which I was failing miserably), I was getting mostly As and Bs. Because I was extremely shy and couldn´t connect with others, I naturally had no friends, and so I spent most of my time with my nose in books. Soon I acquired a lot more general knowledge than my classmates; not because I was smarter (I was not) but because I read. This caused me to develop a very high opinion of my skills; so great it was that I soon started showing signs of narcissism. And no empathy.

I did not see it, of course. I felt justified in my contempt, thinking that most people were just too ignorant and below my intellectual level. And I sure let them know. I especially showed that to those kids who had been mean to me when I was younger. However, there were some that did not deserve it. I had a classmate who was from an extremely poor family; their father left the family when the kids were young, and the mother was an alcoholic prostitute. None of the kids were doing well at school, but especially the girl I was going to school with. She even had nothing to eat. One day, we were supposed to write each other what we thought of them. With my brutal honesty, I wrote her that I hoped she wouldn´t end up like her mother. She cried a lot (understandably), and all the other girls - who were otherwise very contemptuous of her, too - gave me a cold shoulder (justifiably). I would be lying to you that I am not ashamed of my former behavior. I mean, mentally. But otherwise, in my heart, I don´t care, and I understand it´s wrong. I know that the girl (who is now living a life which is very similar to her mother´s) has never forgiven me for it. I don´t blame her.

When I was a kid, I sometimes did terrible things. I mean, I was a very nice and proper kid most of the time. But then I suddenly broke into rage (extremely short-lived but powerful), and I got vicious. I once read a scientific article about the lizards´ ability to regenerate their bodies, especially tails. I got to go out with other kids from time to time (read: they were willing to take me with them), but on this very day, when we were climbing into an abandoned and moss-infested swimming pool, I found a lizard. I excitedly chased it, rephrasing the contents of the article for the other kids, and then I lifted the lizard up and cut off its tale. It was a buzz. I felt victorious, but felt no guilt over it, claiming that the animal´s tail would grow back in a few days. Other kids started calling me names, asking why I did that, and I could not answer. Or I tortured our cat a few times by... I cannot even write this right now. I feel really guilty and terrible now, and I mean it. I don´t know what happened to me, but THANK GOD, I never hurt an animal again. The cat lived, by the way. Again, thank God. To be honest, now I am the one who promotes the rights of animals, and when I see someone mistreating their furry friend, I give them a hardcore scolding. It´s interesting, though, that I only feel guilty for mistreating the animals; not for mistreating the schoolmate.

While I have not repeated what I did to the animals anymore, I certainly don´t care that much about humans. I can´t help it. I imagine that most people would not understand this concept of not caring and not hating at the same time, as they are not wired that way. Most people, when they see other people hurting, do care. Even those who say that they don´t, they still do. Don´t get me wrong. I do, too. But sometimes, I don´t, and I can´t make myself care because I don´t feel anything about the given thing. I don´t feel good or bad when thinking about the thing, whatever that thing may be. I help people because it´s a socially expected norm and it´s an obligation, and I even like to see other people happy, but I usually don´t feel it WHEN they are happy. I only see it. When I feel it, it feels great - it is like being emotionally connected. That is a special feeling for me.

I am generally a good girl, and so I try to monitor my behavior. Mind you, it´s hard, when you have a low empathy. That alone creates the disconnection. I have IQ 124 but my EQ is much lower. I scored 25 points on the official test (5 points below the standard). And so when I feel someone deserves it - like a bully, for example - I don´t feel guilty, or second-guess my decision. But I do have a conscience. That is why I don´t think I am a real psychopath. I certainly am on the spectrum, since I have some of the traits. But I also show the symptoms of autism, Borderline PD, Narcissistic PD, and maybe even Avoidant PD. I was diagnosed with OCD. That does not sound like a prototypical psychopath, does it? They are not supposed to feel scared; they have a smaller amygdala. But I have not seen my brain scan.