Posts Tagged ‘sociopathic tendencies’

In my post “The Recurring Childhood Memories” I have shown how sociopathic tendencies are present from early life, but those don’t develop into complete sociopathy without triggers.
Triggers can occur in early childhood as the consequence of abuse, but they can also occur later in life.
I’ve had problems at school when I was little, kids hated me and attacked me but that didn’t make me develop full sociopathy. So even though I’ve never had conscience and empathy, I have had a wider specter of emotions.

There were two main triggers that turned me into a sociopath.

One happened at the age of 16.
I was nearly kidnapped by a pedophile. At that time I literally felt my nervous system shut down almost all of my emotions. I tend to describe that as if my brain switched to a 100% analysis machine and I processed dozens of informations in seconds consciously.
This is what how it happened…

I was waiting for a morning bus, for school. It’s been 7:30am or so. I saw a car pull over and I recognized it as my father’s friend. So I casually got in. The moment I closed the door I realized how wrong I was. But I didn’t show any reaction. That was the moment I was talking about. Something in my mind changed abruptly.
And as you’d guess, one can’t just sit in a car and expect silence. A casual chit-chat started, that bastard started asking questions about my family, nothing suspicious at the first glance, but paranoid as I was, I analyzed every word.
He wasn’t from the town, I could conclude that. After I replied to all those questions he got onto more awkward ones. Do I have a boyfriend? (I said no, guessing that if I said I did, it would seem more tempting to a pedophile.)
I was actually profiling the victim that a monster like him would choose and tried my best to make the opposite.
For example, when he asked what kind of student I was, I guessed an exellent student would be fun for him so I said I was just alright.
Parallel with those analyses I was thinking of a way to kill him. There was nothing coming to my mind that would end it quickly enough and not let him fight back as I wouldn’t stand a chance. (He must’ve been around 50 in age.)
I got even more panicked when he didn’t take the turn I demanded. I knew there was just one more turn to take before leaving town and I had about two minutes to talk my way out.
That’s when he started convincing me to go with him to the nearby city for a coffee. I was making excusses how I have way too many skipped classes, how I couldn’t make anymore, how I had to go to improve my grades. Everything possible. And I couldn’t stand the fact I was in control of someone else. The moment he touched my cheek I was enraged. I remembered I had a pen in my bag, and I used the chance to take it out when his phone rang. I saw he rushed to end the conversation, not giving me longer than ten seconds. We continued to chat, and I was thinking of how hard I should swing the pen to smash his throat in only one hit; how bad would it be for me if a car crash would occur because of the stab; would he still be able to harm me in that condition…
Finally, as he reached the final turn I somehow convinced him to take it. And as he pulled over in front of my school he tried taking my number, but I refused to give it going for the door. It was impossible to open it from the inside, and when he opened them for me he said “I almost stole you.” as if it was all a big joke. I got into school and went to the class. I was still cold, shut off from emotions, I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was just regretting for not killing him. And I still regret it, deeply.
But since then I never regained a significant part of the emotional specter, and I continued to actively analyze every word someone spoke and planning every word I said.

The other major trigger was the hospital. At the age of 18. Recently. I don’t even know why I ended up there, but two days before that the neighbor’s dog killed my cat, and I did all I could to save it (my parents were out of town at my grandfather’s).
Then, two days later I got a high fever, 40°C, and ended up in a hospital.
There I spent the half of the first day in peace, and then they’ve put a baby in the same room with me. That little brat wouldn’t cut the crying for four hours! I was going insane, wanting to strangle it so much I’ve barely held it in. It continued throughout the night and I had no sleep. In the morning I had to take infusion. I was fine with that, but I was too paranoid again I feared that the needle will pierce my vein on the other side, that it’ll break, that something will go wrong. And my parents and cousins moving around the infusion bags was frustrating! I was nervous, yelling at them to watch out, and when my father accidentally almost knocked it down I snapped and made them all get out that instant. I wasn’t left alone in peace for one second. Either family or that brat crying and screaming, and while I was on infusion I couldn’t move for two hours and was forced to listen to it. I was losing my mind. I felt as I was steadily going insane.
I started to get agitated by my boyfriend’s presence, by doctors, by my family. And then they came on the third day, telling me they had to go to the funeral and that my grandfather died. I didn’t give a damn about his death, I was angry with them leaving me alone for two days in that hell. I threw a major fit, saying all kinds of cruel things without hesitating. My aunt (who is a social worker) said I was insolent and I yelled I didn’t care one bit, once again throwing them all out along with the nurses. Len (boyfriend) stayed and I sent him off to get me cigarettes even though it was a hospital. Until he got back I was trying to calm down. And I managed for a bit, consoled by the fact I was getting out in two days.
Then, as the doctors had no idea what was wrong with me, my uncle took my blood for the test in another city. It was a test for AIDS, hepatitis and other diseases of that type as it was only acknowledged that my liver was somehow damaged. The results were positive for hepatitis B. I was at shock. I wasn’t ready to die or be sick and isolated for the rest of my life. I wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility.
I even met accusations of taking drugs and being too sexually active. Then they accused Len.
It was on the fifth day, when they got back. I was dismissed from the hospital the day after, but that was not the end. I was already different beyond recognition concerning my psyche.
I was taken to the hospital in the city near by a week later, and both Len and I got tested twice. The results which arrived a week after were negative this time and I was angry with my whole family on the father’s side. My aunt was still talking about my intollerable behavior though.
And when all of the dirt settled down I was incapable of remembering myself before it. In one month I lost my old self completely and I didn’t really notice right away as my self awareness from before that was erased. And when I noticed it was long gone.
I became emotionless, ruthless monster myself. And I loved it. I adored it. I wasn’t feeling bad, I wasn’t worried or frustrated about anything anymore. Just indifferent. Devoid of any feelings at all. Completely careless.

Then I grew bored of a relationship with Len and just dumped him with no remorse.
And before I knew it, I was being told that I might be a sociopath by Hayley.
I looked at every article I could, at every list of traits one would have to fulfil to be proclaimed a sociopath. And I was fitting in with all of them.

But I didn’t take it hard. I was actually conntent to finally know what I was. At least now I’m clear with myself and can decide what to do about it. Well, I’m just being a monster I am. At least I’m happier than before.


I have quite a problem of remembering much of my childhood. Actually, I fail to remember many things from my past that I was indifferent about. And I was indifferent a lot. It often happens that I can’t remember my day at school when I come home, but I perfectly remember what I’ve been thinking about in classes. It’s just that I neglect my surrounding so much that I stop being aware of it. And it’s only natural that I won’t have any memories of what I’ve been doing there if I was on “auto-pilot” to put it that way.

But, this is how I’ve been functioning since always, and as my memory is quite selective I forgot many unimportant memories. They still do come back if something reminds me of it. It can astonish me sometimes, as if those were someone else’s memories.
I did keep remembering some things, but that amount is very small. That might be because I’ve never had a habit to look back into the past. I would only install the important information into my brain and discard everything that I might not find useful in the future (at least what I thought I won’t then). Some things were just plain fun, and that refused to stay the most. That is something which I needed to remember now that I realized I am a sociopath.

I was trying to recall some events that might help me remember if I had some sociopathic traits in the childhood. And it wasn’t going too well as I realized I almost have nothing to remember. No material for examination. So I gave up and went with watching the TV. All of a sudden a flashback strokes me at the sighting of an ant colon on the TV. There were the memories I needed. I had sociopathic tendencies ever since I was little, now I was 100% sure. I thought I’ve never tortured animals, but under animals I counted only larger animals; mammals and birds. But what about insects?

I remembered how I enjoyed playing with ants in front of my house as a kid. There were two separate colons, and I found the one with bigger ants later. In the beginning, while I had only those barely visible ants I would demolish their shelter and watch them trying to dig their way out and the ones out to find a hole. But when I found those larger ants (around 1.5cm) I changed my way of playing. I was cutting off parts of their bodies with a thin stick and watched them walk around in panic until they’d die. I also disturbed the whole colon and watch them attacking the stick in my hand but unable to do anything. I enjoyed knowing they are in my mercy and that I was the one bringing fear and commotion in their peaceful life just because I felt like it.

Other than ants I was torturing large bugs, ripping their wings and legs off and watch them die. Or breaking snails’ shells with a fork or covering them with salt. I had so much fun doing all this, and zero conscience.
Mother taught me not to torture animals, she even taught me to be very fond of them. But, she never mentioned insects, and no one seemed to pay attention to stomping on them. Even killed them on purpose. But others were simply killing them coldly, I thought of why don’t they have fun first as I did? But I never asked of course. It made me smarter, and it made me better than the rest.

I wasn’t falling behind with menacing other children either. Starting from kindergarten I was the silver-tongued one, but I would freak out if some kid decided to disobey me, and would give into physical violence without thinking. So instead of going there for two years parents signed me out for the second one. Then I went to preschool at sixth year of life. I was again violent, but more controlling and I used verbal violence if I could fix it like that. But I was cleverer then. I would manage to make teachers there like me, and would bother kids only when they weren’t watching. It all continued through elementary school, but kids there hated me, and even older ones were picking on me, calling me a freak, a monster, a lunatic, always in groups. I would lay my hands on one of them though and while the others were beating me I wouldn’t let go of that unlucky one, quite commonly bringing serious injuries onto her/him. In the end they’d always just try to detach me from that one kid. But I would scream and laugh, not paying attention to my painful bruises until it was all over. And yet, my mother always managed to make me seem as a victim. After all, I was just defending myself from the group of four or five kids attacking me. She even threatened to one girl which was the fifth grade when I was the second one, and that I got into a fight with.
In the fifth grade I calmed down and stopped fighting almost completely. In the seventh though, a guy I hated kicked my dog and I kicked him in the knee almost breaking it. He hit me with a bag and caused my cheek muscle to snap in two. Luckily I have no visible scar, but there is still a 2cm wide cut that can be felt under the skin tissue. I was furious and was unable to stop crying, promising I’d kill him one day. And again, even though I had started the fight, I ended up as a victim as he was a problematic child from the foster family.

Remembering all this made me realize I was, after all, a child with those traits, and not only the triggers in later years turned my sanity upside down. I never had conscience or empathy for humans. I despised them and toyed with them from the very beginning of my social life. But I have had a speck of emotions for my family still. Then came high school and the casual mask creating started. I wrote about that in the post “Being a Social Chameleon”.

But I was missing on early childhood part so much that I know now: One does not simply become a sociopath because of a few traumas. That’s the way for PTSD. Sociopathy is definitely something one pulls from the genes, and it only gets triggered to worse, but it’s there even without it. It is there for the whole life. Right from the second child breaths in for the first time.

I’ve seen many family members react negatively when they find out that one of them is a sociopath/psychopath. Also, it happens that they notice out-of-pattern behavior (especially parents). But, as both sociopathy and psychopathy are genetic disorders, it isn’t rare that one of the parents is also one. It doesn’t have to be the case, since certain genes can skip a generation or come as stray from the other part of the family, but in my case, both my mother and I are sociopaths.

I avoided telling her that, due to some differences that exist among us. These differences probably originate from the fact that she had a calmer childhood, and had little to no traumas (or triggers).
She is also not a sadistic sociopath type like me. This led to some changes in my growing up, since she is not a “full-blown” sociopath.
I talk to her a lot, and we have a strong bond, even though it isn’t based on normal mother-daughter love bond. It is more based on mutual understanding, and it is very visible that my father is somehow cast aside from this. We live in the same house, but I rarely ever have a lengthy conversation with him, and it usually ends with a serious verbal fight.
But back to my mother and me.
She is quite atypical since she seems to have a certain dose of empathy for animals. And, as we’ve kept cats almost since my birth, I grew up around animals and learned to act nicely with them. Even today I still have cats, and I do enjoy their presence. Although, when I was younger, I had the tendency to imagine torturing a cat and seeing how it would react. I also squeezed them a lot to hear them squeak, but I never hurt them. It also happens that cat starts annoying me and I hit it pretty harshly. Now, I don’t feel guilt about hitting it too hard, but something still “slaps” me for doing so. It passes pretty quickly though, in the matter of seconds.
She has no empathy for humans, however. She never had many friends, and the ones she had meant nothing to her. It’s the same for me. But, as I said, I had had certain triggers during my teenage years, and that’s when emotion by emotion (faint ones, but still somewhat present) started falling off. After a few strong triggers my personality with sociopathic tendencies only, grew into a true sociopathic personality.
I had no idea it did until Hayley brought it up, since she is interested in psychology.
I knew I was different, but I was so convinced I had normal emotions that I went with complete opposite at the start and concluded I had Borderline personality disorder. Hayley noted a few times that certain things did match, but something was still wrong with it. I dismissed her opinion though. I wanted to believe it was BPD I had, because that would give me immunity. But, I didn’t pay attention I wanted it just for personal gain, to justify my bad behavior. And she couldn’t tell that I was manipulative liar since I always had a mask on.
Anyway, as I came to a realization of my true disorder, I took it just fine; again proving I had no emotions. Once I got along with that, I said it to Hayley, and everything did fit as I took my mask off for her.

And as sociopathy is genetic, I started analyzing my mother, as I resemble her too much in behavior. That’s when I first started asking her about her past and her attitudes for other people actively. Even today, she has no friends and she seems to be content with that. But, as I said, she does have empathy for animals and her close family.
Within a year, I lost my grandmother, mother’s mother, and grandfather, my father’s father.
I was indifferent about both events, not feeling a speck of sadness, but I’ve seen my mother cry for her mother’s death. Though, she gave no response for my grandfather, the same as me. So this supports the theory she isn’t like me completely.

At the time of my grandfather’s death, I was in a hospital though, and the circumstances were a bit different. The time at the hospital was also one of my triggers. That’s when I lost the last remaining bits of sanity, but I’ll talk about that in a post about triggers soon. This point was significant though, becuse that’s when I had the first major snap. A public one that is. And that was when the whole family from my father’s side concluded they had so much against my behavior. I snapped because both of my parents were going to the funeral in a pretty distanced city and were leaving me alone at the hospital for two days. Both of my aunts were there and I still yelled “I don’t give a shit about the damn funeral, he is dead and I am still alive, you don’t have to go both!” This hit them all pretty hard, and I never regretted a single word. No guilt. The key point was when my mother was the only one to step over to my side and did not find anything wrong with my opinion. All she did was to discreetly warn me not to show it so openly.

And in many conversations she would tell my mistakes, and how to correct them. But she never mentioned it was wrong nor scolded me for being manipulative. Almost even praised me sometimes. She observes that as one simply is having formed opinion on things and being able to get through life to get what one wants. She often uses the phrase “any means necessary” when advising me. And I really live with that phrase as one of my mottos.

I find it interesting how she kept thinking that kind of behavior is right for her whole life, and how she taught me to live following these principles beside my father watching and teaching me the opposite. On the other side, I probably wouldn’t accept them if I wasn’t like her from my early years.

I also remember how she always stood in my defense when I had fights at elementary school, even though she knew it was my fault. She’d always help me make up a valid story to make the other side look guilty, and it worked every single time. I was never accused for starting the fight in the end, and she seemed to always convince the teachers to think what she wanted them to.

So there’s the recipe for creating a perfect sociopath: I had genetic tendencies, a firm role model to fuel them and enough triggers caused by the surroundings to light the match. And voila!