sociopath

I’m Probably A Sociopath: Exhibit B

/ Diane Henders / 30 Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I concluded I was probably a sociopath.  Just in case more evidence was needed, this photo from my living room provides the confirmation:

Cabbage-rose patterned chair

Photographic evidence: Exhibit B

According to Wikipedia, a diagnosis of sociopathy can be made if the subject exhibits at least three of six hallmarks.  Let’s look at them individually, shall we?

Items 1 and 2:

  1. Callous unconcern for the feelings of others.
  2. Gross and persistent attitude of irresponsibility and disregard for social norms, rules, and obligations.

The fact that I harbour this furniture in my living room definitely qualifies me for both items (and probably also for an emergency decorating intervention).  Anyone who cares about the feelings of others or the norms of society would never force another human being to witness that fabric pattern.  But I kinda like it.  It’s… bold.  Yeah, that’s the word I was looking for.  Bold.

Item 3:  Incapacity to maintain enduring relationships, though having no difficulty in establishing them.

I thought I’d be able to weasel out of diagnosis when I read this.  I have no problem with relationships.  So there.

But then came…

Item 4:  Very low tolerance to frustration and a low threshold for discharge of aggression, including violence.

Um… well, yeah, I get frustrated sometimes.  Who doesn’t?  And yeah, I kickbox, but that’s not really violent, is it?  I mean, it’s not like I’m whacking little old ladies in the streets, right?  Just because I go downstairs and kick the hell out of my 270-lb bag when I’m having a bad day doesn’t mean I’m violent.  And really, “low threshold for discharge of aggression” is such a subjective thing.  “Low” compared to what?  Kickboxing is just a healthy outlet for my frustration.

Item 5:  Incapacity to experience guilt or to profit from experience, particularly punishment.

I figured I was home free when I read the first part.  I’ve got lots of guilt.  I tend to ignore it, but I definitely have it, so that’s gotta count for something.  But then there’s the ‘inability to profit from experience/punishment’ part.  Being a fiction writer is pretty much indistinguishable from punishment sometimes.  And apparently I haven’t learned much from it, ‘cause I keep on writing.

Item 6:  Markedly prone to blame others or to offer plausible rationalizations for the behavior that has brought the person into conflict with society.

Oh shit, rationalizations.  But that thing about the kickboxing wasn’t really a rationalization, was it?  That previous sentence wasn’t a rationalization, either.  I’m pretty sure about that.  And anyway, my mother picked out the furniture.  So it’s not really my fault…

Oops, rationalization and blame.

The wiki also helpfully notes, “There may be persistent irritability as an associated feature.”

“Irritability”?  Come on, seriously?  Do you know anybody who doesn’t get irritated sometimes?  That really pisses me off!

I mean… um… never mind.

So I’m five out of six, with bonus points for irritability.  That might worry me if I didn’t have a gross and persistent disregard for social norms.

And I just can’t seem to feel guilty about that…

I’m Probably A Sociopath: Exhibit A

/ Diane Henders / 60 Comments

If there’s an enzyme that regulates concern for how one is perceived by the general public, my levels are dangerously low.  Add that to my tendency to choose a logical (to me) solution despite the hair-pulling, eye-bulging frustration of my companions, and I’m pretty sure I’m a sociopath.

As evidence, I present Exhibit A:  my fanny pack.  But I don’t wear it on my fanny (or at least, not the North American definition of ‘fanny’), so I refer to it as a waist pouch.  See?  Blatant disregard for the norms of society.

Photographic evidence: Exhibit A

I’m not actually oblivious to fashion; I just find it annoyingly illogical.  On those rare occasions when I’m forced to dress up, I wear stylish clothes and hide my waist pouch inside a capacious handbag.  But it’s only an empty gesture to craftily hide my psychosis (which is another earmark of sociopathy, by the way).

When I’m wearing my waist pouch, I’m happy and comfortable… and a walking fashion faux pas.  I’m fully aware the fashion police will one day take me down.  But until they do, I’m keeping it.

It’s comfortable, practical, and hands-free.  It’s attached to my body, so it’s impossible to accidentally leave it behind.  When I’m riding a motorcycle, I don’t have to figure out how to carry a purse.  When I’m hiking or skiing or golfing, it’s right there when I need it.  And despite its approximately five-pound weight, it’s effortless to carry because it hangs on my hips, not my shoulder.

As long as I’ve got my pouch, I’m set to survive anything from a business meeting to an exile in the wilderness.  I’ve got bandaids, tissues, sunscreen, two kinds of lip balm (one with SPF 15), sunglasses, a flashlight, a bottle opener, one sturdy folding knife, and one Swiss-Army-type pocketknife with tweezers and screwdrivers and so forth.

There’s a small drugstore’s worth of useful pharmaceuticals like ASA, ibuprofen, anti-nauseants, antacids, cough drops, zinc lozenges, dextrose tablets, eye drops, and a bronchodilator.  And I have my smartphone, pen, earplugs, dental floss, concealer, hair brush, hair elastics, hand sanitizer, breath mints, scissors, a measuring tape, screwdrivers, reading glasses, nail clippers, and a nail file.

Of course, I also carry my wallet, cheque book, and change purse.  And a key to every lock in my life (21 in all, plus an extra for my car just in case).  And a bunch of business cards.  And two USB flash drives because I’m paranoid about keeping offsite backups of my work.  Oh, and a little chunk of amethyst, because folklore says it enhances creativity and prevents drunkenness, which are both important considerations for a writer.

And there’s still room for my MP3 player in a pinch.

Everything has a place, and it’s packed so efficiently and predictably that I can find any item one-handed in the dark in ten seconds or less.

How can you argue with those benefits?  A waist pouch is clearly the best solution.  It’s simple logic.  Like all good sociopaths, I hold the implicit belief that I’m right and the rest of the world is wrong.

So if you see the fashion police headed my way, call me.  I’ll cut through the window screen with my pocketknife, lower myself on a rope made of dental floss, and cleverly disable their car with my screwdrivers before making my getaway.  Wearing my sunglasses as a disguise.

Why yes, actually, paranoia is also a symptom of sociopathy… why do you ask?