Sociopath

by Patric Gagne

The red flags were there from the beginning. I knew as early as seven that something was off. I didn’t care about things the way other kids did. Certain emotions—like happiness and anger—came naturally, if somewhat sporadically. 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.

All I knew was that I liked doing things that made me feel something, to feel anything. It was better than nothing.

Representation matters. I offer my story because it illustrates the truth no one wants to admit: that darkness is where you least expect it. I am a criminal without a record. I am a master of disguise. I have never been caught. I have rarely been sorry. I am friendly. I am responsible. I am invisible. I blend right in. I am a twenty-first-century sociopath. And I’ve written this book because I know I’m not alone.

To be clear: I wasn’t a kleptomaniac. A kleptomaniac is a person with a persistent and irresistible urge to take things that don’t belong to them. I suffered from a different type of urge, a compulsion brought about by the discomfort of apathy, the nearly indescribable absence of common social emotions like shame and empathy. But, of course, I didn’t understand any of this back then. All I knew was that I didn’t feel things the way other kids did. I didn’t feel guilt when I lied. 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.

When trying to explain this lack of certain emotions, I’ve likened it to standing next to a roller coaster. I can hear the people on the ride. I can see the dips and curves of the track. I can sense the creeping adrenaline as the train begins its steep ascent. As the first car reaches the top of the hill, I suck the air into my lungs and then exhale forcefully with my hands over my head, watching the coaster rush to the bottom. I get it. I’m just not experiencing it for myself.

It was written by Dr. David Lykken, 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.

“It’s why I need the job,” I told him. “Because I can’t have too much free time. I can’t be bored. It’s tough to explain, but when I’m bored it’s like I remember that I don’t feel. And that feeling—the feeling of not feeling—makes me want to do bad things.” I shrugged slightly. “Sometimes, anyway.”