What am I really? I wonder it from time to time. Everyone has their own opinion; I'm a monster I'm a genius I'm a rat bastard. I know exactly what I am, I can feel it. But that's just it, it has no title. No one can accurately call me one thing or another. I'm a creature of too many parts. A lion with the leap of a rabbit and the wings of a bird. What do you call such a beast?
It's a strange thing, gazing into the eyes of your peers and seeing merely a reflection. A projection of something or someone you could never truly be. The academic, the writer, the healer, the human being. As an empath you can never truly fathom the abstract feeling of watching yourself become something else. Laughing and smiling at things you don't really understand. Human interaction and all its little dips and swerves.
Even the people who know, don't know. There's always two parts to every story; what the author writes and what the author doesn't write. Both are equally important. This author will never write the whole story. The very title of this blog suggests the opportunity to 'peak behind the mask'. But it's not so straightforward, is it? Regardless how much I may want to be in full view of the world, by my very nature that is impossible.
I like clever people; I hate dense people. If you can't read between the lines you aren't meant to know their secrets. A sociopath's brain is built on a system of hierarchy. His or herself being at the top and everyone else being ranked somewhere below (usually quite far to be honest). That's part of why we're so secretive. Does a General share information with a lieutenant? Only the bare minimum. Why? Because an inferior is ill-equiped to utilize such data. Would you give a map to a dog?
Yet more and more I find myself bursting at the seams in frustration. No one is brilliant enough, smart enough, clever enough. I'm up Shit Creek without a paddle. My face is melting from the sheer madness of it all. I've always found such proclamations as "the mask of sanity' in regards to sociopathy to be, more than a little melodramatic. Mask of 'sanity'? No one could be more lucid or sane than I.
But now I look back and forward and upside down and see the melted plastic of conformity sticking to my chin and I ask myself, 'what am I really?' Reality to me, has always been a four dimensional construct. Not everything is straight lines and neat little boxes we can all be sketched into. I've always believed strongly that I am everything I appear to be and more. Actions are the words on the page, it doesn't matter that the lines between tell a different story.
If I give a million dollars to charity one day and kill your mother the next, am I a humanitarian or aren't I? Empaths like to view the world through a muddied window of their own pre-programmed beliefs and ideals. If God says a cat has five legs, it has five legs goddammit! Likewise, if you kill or rape or pillage, or perhaps just happen to lack empathy, you cannot possibly provide a speck of good for society. The concept is too traumatic to process. In psychology it's called Cognitive Dissonance, and is the behavioral basis behind why religious hordes are so fucking stupid.
It's also the basis behind why, unless I dance on a pile of corpses in broad daylight with a bloody knife in my hand and a neon-green shirt that reads "I DID IT!" on the front, no one will suspect be of being anything more than perhaps a bit strange when looked at closely. And I suppose that's what I am when boiled down to size. Psychopaths are just like you, only a bit stranger.
