Ad blocker interference detected!
Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers
Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.
I’m not going to try to convince myself of anything too ridiculous or unbelievable. I know the world doesn’t revolve around me. I don’t have anything I consider a “special ability”. I also don’t think there’s anything peculiar about me that can make me any more unusual than any other person. I may or may not be correct. But there’s one thing I’m starting to wonder. There’s something a lot of people have that I believe that I lack. Not my sanity, though I considered that as an option for a while, but any vestiges of sympathy.
Empathy, understanding, reading the emotions of others… I don’t do any of those things. It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that I can’t. I often know what I should feel, but I just simply don’t. Seeing another person afraid or in a state of panic should make me react in a similar way, but once more, I don’t. Disturbing images and ideas should make me cringe and turn away, but yet again, I don’t have that reaction.
It seems as if I don’t understand anyone’s emotions other than my own. This apparently makes me a psychopath. This doesn’t mean I’m murderous or hateful. Being psychotic and psychopathic are two completely different things.
In fact, I’m hardly what anyone would call threatening. The worst I do is occasionally manipulate another person to get what I want, most often money. Why? Because I’m greedy. I love money. I love spending money. I love the things I can buy with money. But back on track… Yes. The people I’ve manipulated have felt emotional pain or distress, but it never matters to me, although it should. Why should it matter to me if it’s something I don’t feel? I know what I should feel, but I don’t.
It’s such a drag to feel nothing.
All of my behaviors and actions are learned. I act based on reactions and facial expressions of others. Empathy, nor sympathy, is present within me. It’s almost as if I’m programmed this way.
Crazy? No. This is merely a vitamin deficiency. At least that’s what I’ve been told. But the more I mull this over, one thought continues to resurface.
A psychopath is little more than a mortal machine.
And this machine only wishes to feel what any normal person does.
I wish I could care.