Sociopath

by Patric Gagne

But social emotions—things like guilt, empathy, remorse, and even love—did not. Most of the time, I felt nothing. So I did “bad” things to make the nothingness go away. It was like a compulsion.

The quickest way to relieve the pressure was to do something undeniably wrong, something I knew would absolutely make anyone else feel one of the emotions I couldn’t. So that’s what I did.

I didn’t understand that the human brain has evolved to function empathically, or that the stress of living without natural access to feeling is believed to be one of the causes of compulsive acts of violence and destructive behavior. All I knew was that I liked doing things that made me feel something, to feel anything. It was better than nothing.

apathy, the nearly indescribable absence of common social emotions like shame and empathy.

I didn’t feel compassion when classmates got hurt on the playground. For the most part, I felt nothing. And I didn’t like the way that “nothing” felt. So I did things to replace the nothingness with… something.

I was in a daze. The pressure was gone. But, unlike every other time I’d done something bad, my physical attack on Syd had resulted in something different, a sort of euphoria.

For weeks I’d been engaging in all manner of subversive behavior to make the pressure disappear and none of it had worked. But now—with that one violent act—all traces of pressure were eradicated. Not just gone but replaced by a deep sense of peace. It was like I’d discovered a fast track to tranquility, one that was equal parts efficacy and madness.

Inflicting pain (or distress) was a guaranteed, instantaneous method of pressure elimination. I didn’t know why. All I knew was the release after stabbing Syd was the best feeling I’d ever had. It wasn’t just that I didn’t care. It was that I didn’t care that I didn’t care. I was a kite flying high in the sky, beyond the reach of pressure and stuck stress and any expectations of emotion. Yet somehow, I knew there was an inherent risk in allowing myself to do something so amoral. It was dangerous, for one thing. But worse, it was addictive.

Like my limited grasp of emotion, the concept of boundaries was muddled for me. What’s more, it solidified my understanding that I was very different from other people my age. Most kids seemed to inherently get the idea of limits. They understood when to stop and when to go. They had an emotional connection to right vs. wrong. But that was never the case with me, particularly when it came to rules that I felt were open to interpretation. Like stealing. And lying. And breaking into our old house so I could get something I needed.

Lurking beneath my surface I always had an urge to prowl or steal or stalk, sometimes even to hurt. This wasn’t because I wanted to, but because some part of me understood that it made me feel better. It made me feel, period.

“I love you,” he said softly. Those three little words took me by surprise. A tune from Cinderella sprang to mind. So this is love, I thought. Except it didn’t feel transactional. Or conditional. Or dangerous or useless. This feeling was perfect—perfectly symbiotic in that I was simultaneously experiencing what it was like to care about someone not related to me and, by the grace of that connection, what it was like to care about myself. For the very first time.

We learned that in addition to those who experience too much emotion, there are others who experience too little. Their personality types are not categorized by the presence of feeling but by its absence.

They don’t feel like everyone else. And it is this lack of feeling, many researchers believe, that causes them to behave aggressively and destructively. The sociopath’s subconscious desire to feel is what forces him to act out.”

“Normalization is a therapeutic tool through which a state of mind or belief system previously thought of as anomalous or irregular is redefined as ‘normal,’ ” Dr.

“having an antisocial personality diagnosis doesn’t automatically mean that someone is a sociopath. It’s more of an indicator. Most psychologists agree that an antisocial personality assessment is only the first step in diagnosing someone as a sociopath.”

“Biology,” she told me. “At least, that’s what many researchers think. Psychopaths are believed to suffer from brain abnormalities. It’s why they make the same mistakes over and over. They are biologically incapable of learning from punishment or understanding remorse or even experiencing anxiety. But sociopaths are believed to be different. While their behavior is often just as bad as psychopaths’, they appear to be more capable of evolution. Their issues seem to be more environmental than biological.” Dr. Slack shrugged. “At least, that’s one of the theories. But there’s a lot of disagreement in the field.”

Robert Plutchik was a psychologist who identified eight fundamental feelings he termed the “primary” emotions: anger, fear, sadness, disgust, surprise, anticipation, trust, and joy.

“Even psychopaths. These emotions are automatic, inherent.” Dr. Slack selected a binder and returned to her desk. “But there is another set of feelings that is not inherent.” She set the binder down in front of me, gesturing to the open page. “Empathy, guilt, shame, remorse, jealousy, even love—these are considered social emotions,” she said. “We’re not born with them. They’re learned.”

“Psychopaths and sociopaths are in the same boat because they’re constantly looking for a way to connect those pathways. To feel. It’s why they behave so destructively. It’s why they’re so dangerous. Eventually, the constant weight of apathy becomes too much to take.” “And then what happens?” Dr. Slack frowned. “They snap.”

Deep in the research racks I found multiple studies indicating that all sociopaths were not, in fact, monsters hell-bent on destruction. Rather, they were people whose default temperament made the learned social emotions—like empathy and remorse—more difficult, but not impossible, to internalize.

a psychologist who claimed to have discovered a link between sociopathy and anxiety. After testing the anxiety levels of dozens of sociopathic subjects, he concluded there was a subcategory of sociopathy, which he labeled as secondary or “neurotic.” He later theorized that this type of sociopathy may not be genetic, but was instead associated with stress caused by emotional frustration and inner conflict.

“In spite of your difficulty connecting with others, your first impulse—after being told your diagnosis—was to look out the window to find someone else like you.”

“Borderline personality disorder is often confused with sociopathy,” she explained, “because a lot of the behavioral diagnostics are similar, the observational stuff. Unstable relationships, impulsivity, self-destructiveness, habitual emptiness, anger, hostility—many of those traits overlap. Same with narcissism, actually.” “But why is that the case,” I asked, “if we’re so different?” “Because your behavior is motivated by different things,” said Dr. Carlin. “Borderlines act out due to an abundance of feeling. Sociopaths act out because of a deficit.

“So much of a sociopath’s negative behavior is compulsive. It’s driven by an anxious reaction to the pressure, by the urge to dispel the apathy. That’s the way that it feels. But in the absence of that anxiety—sociopaths have a choice,” I explained. “I went into the house across the street because I wanted to, because I chose it. And because anxiety wasn’t the motivator, I was able to enjoy the experience.”

Rational emotive behavioral therapy (REBT), developed by Columbia University psychologist Albert Ellis, is a treatment designed to help people recognize irrational and destructive beliefs, feelings, and behaviors and restructure them. The key component of REBT is the ABC Model. When examining behavioral choices, the model asks an individual to identify three things: the “activating event” (A), the “belief system” related to that event (B), and the “consequence” that results from that belief (C).

Instead of merely identifying unconscious machinations, CBT patients are asked to address conscious thoughts and actions when they happen. It is a goal-oriented, real-world approach that calls for clear-cut objectives and well-defined tasks to minimize unhealthy coping mechanisms. CBT focuses on managing problematic behaviors first and saves understanding why they exist for later. “It’s a commonsense approach to psychology,” I reasoned, “perfectly suited for the sociopath.”

These days, I’m happy to report, I don’t have to work so hard. I’ve come to accept that my version of love is a mosaic: tiny pieces of broken glass held together by fate so the light can shine through in different colors. It is not perfect. Perfect, I’m afraid, is far too tame.

The purest love is not born from bliss. It is pulled from the pyre. It is fierce and shape-shifted, slightly twisted and delicious. Accepting, forgiving, understanding, and relatably flawed, my type of love is the furthest thing from perfect. The closest thing to me.