On Thinking I Might Be a Psychopath I’ve always carried a suspicion about myself — an itch in the back of my mind that whispers I might not be like other people. Sometimes, when I look at the way I act, the way I calculate, the way I detach, I see qualities that line up with one of the most chilling labels out there: psychopath. I don’t throw that word around lightly. Psychopaths are supposed to be cold, unfeeling, manipulative, even predatory. And when I examine myself, I do see threads of that: I’ve lied without guilt, manipulated people just to test my control, projected indifference as a shield. I’ve worn the face of someone who “doesn’t give a damn” and enjoyed the power that face seemed to generate. And yet, the story isn’t that simple. Because alongside those moments of icy detachment, I’ve also felt deep, surprising pangs of empathy. A beggar walks past me on the street, and something sharp pulls in my chest. A stray dog limps by, and I feel helpless, guilty, even ash...
A curious mind exploring the beautiful world