Death and Depression Part 3: Anti-human Virus

I became infected with a virus that spread through my veins; it made me resent company in any form. Made me hate people even more than my usual jaded, misanthropic philosophy (for lack of a better word than philosophy). I was an HSP by nature, very in tune with my surroundings and the emotions of others. It's like wearing clothing that isn't mine. I started feeling emotions that didn't belong to me. I couldn't block them out anymore, I had long since forgotten how. It had served me well in the past, using these insights to tweak things to my advantage, to influence others' actions, or to just gain the upper hand by knowing when someone was lying. I was a master of manipulation, though I mostly used it for the benefit of others - as long as it didn't effect me. Now? Now it was a constant source of raw emotion: judgement, pity, sorrow...

I became even more cynical than I had been before everything had happened. I had even more hatred for other humans - though I had stopped defining myself as human long ago and I was even less human now. What good did it do anyone to help someone else? They were all going to die, so what did it matter what happened to them before their time was up? And who were they to judge me? That wasn't how it worked! I judged them! I was angry that anyone would judge or pity me. I was not to be pitied.

My coldness became colder. I had removed the remnants of my heart. I turned the pain into darkness and hate, distrust and disgust.

Before... As an INFJ, I had always felt that I should council others. My sociopathic side said that it fell in my moral code and that was what good humans did. So I did. The INFJ in me said that I should protect people, to stand up for them when no one else would. The sociopath in me rolled its eyes - people should learn to stand on their own two feet and not expect everyone to help them - but still it went along with it. The INFJ said that I had the power in me to make a difference in the world, to change it and save it. The sociopath fought tooth and nail on that one. Why should I? People aren't worth it. Humans are inherently evil and selfish creatures. Let them destroy themselves and be done with it. This belief was so overpowering that it led me to join VHEMT, the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement. Though VHEMT had their reason to refuse to reproduce because it would harm the earth, I decided to refuse because humans were pathetic, cruel, evil, beings that I loathed - and nothing would make me happier than to have humanity wiped out by their own stupidity.

After... With four deaths under my belt in three weeks, the sociopath side silenced the INFJ. I reasoned that if I hated everything, I wouldn't have to care about anything. Besides that, what point was there in caring? Everything died, everything faded. It's just the way things are. Waste no tears on humans, I thought. Waste no effort in saving those who - by their very nature - shouldn't be saved. The anti-human virus had done it's job; it spread through my system, poisoning my mind until - by pure reason - I gave up on the world and embraced whatever else was left when you stripped a person of humanity and compassion.

The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"... and I'll look down and whisper "No."
- Watchmen by Alan Moore

Death and Depression Part 2: Build. Destroy. Repeat.

It was the week after my grand-uncle's funeral when I got a message from a close friend that his cousin (who for privacy reasons, we will call J) passed away in a car crash and that our other friend (K) was in critical condition; they weren't sure he was going to make it.

I just watched myself sink to the floor and sit there for the longest time, as if detached from my body. I stared at me, staring at the wall, and wondered when the pain would stop so I could get up again. I came back to myself after a couple of hours. I made myself go through the motions, but there was something off about my routine.

I washed my face for an hour, I painstakingly made the prefect cup of tea and poured it down the sink without tasting it. I opened the fridge to look for a meal and stared at the contents for over twenty minutes. I wanted the company of people, but I now live in a bit of a remote area, so I turned to Facebook to contact my friends.

But as soon as they messaged me, I wanted to get away. I couldn't stand being alone, but I couldn't stomach company. I grew increasingly agitated with everyone and everything, withdrawing into myself and picking fights just to feel something that could - for a moment - overshadow my agony. I started questioning myself and my life... Did I have a right to be here? Did I have a right to sit here, eat, sleep, and breathe while people I loved were dying? Did I have a right to be upset when others were having to cope with the loss of their fathers, their children? Who was I to sit here and think about my pain?

And then I questioned who I was. If I could feel this pain, was I really an HFS like my psych profile said? If not, what was I? What was wrong with me, if not that?

The agitation grew. The walls I built up to keep me from - well, everything - broke. I lost part of my sanity, I lost part of my identity, and all of my reason. I would sit for hours and rebuild myself, only to have one stray thought that crumbled them me into dust. Within a week, K passed away, rejoining J. I longed to go with them; I was destroyed. I tried to remember that we are energy and by physical laws, energy cannot be created nor destroyed; I was rebuilt. The cycle continued. Tragedy struck again.

An underclassman that I went to high school with, that I had classes with and befriended, died. It was all over Facebook, the newspaper, the whole damn town. My emotions were all over the place, unreasonable and confusing. At times I would feel blissfully numb, then I would feel angry and confused, then the crushing anguish all over again.

I lashed out at anyone and everyone only to apologize and fall to pieces immediately. I didn't think I cared about my classmate so much, and in truth I probably didn't; it was simply latching onto the residual loss and hopelessness, magnifying it tenfold. In my entire life of caring about almost nothing, I suddenly cared about everything.

The days blurred together and I no longer cared to control it. I simply embraced it. I did whatever came naturally and didn't attempt to regret it. I decided that if it happened, it happened. I wasn't going to add to the blackness by feeling sorry for hurting other people.

The cycle ended. I remained destroyed.

Death and Depression Part 1: Family Feuds and Funerals

It was a bad day. Rather, it was a bad month. Losing family members and friends is always hard, but I usually deal with it better than most. I view death differently. I see it as a transition from one state of being to the next. In that sense, nothing ever really dies. It just changes.

So imagine my surprise when I find myself losing my mind over the death of a family member that I loved dearly - my "grand-uncle". I hadn't seen him in years due to tension throughout our family. Stupid things, really. I see that now. Up until then, I had always been able to remain composed and keep in mind that those I loved weren't really gone. When I heard the news, it felt like all the oxygen was sucked out of the air. I felt hollow. Shocked. I didn't understand why I wasn't dealing with it the way I normally do.

And then there was the funeral. As I saw him lying there in the coffin, his wife sitting by his side looking more frail and lost than I had ever seen her, I couldn't keep control. Her eyes were small and watery. Her thin, pale frame trembled with grief and such a hopelessness that mirrored what I felt inside. She didn't recognize me at first. I'm not sure she ever fully comprehended who I was and that made it all the more painful. I had loved them both dearly, like my own grandparents. And because family members decided to be at odds with each other (namely my mother and my "father's" adopted parents), I had kept myself from them. It was easier, I told myself, better. But it wasn't.

I couldn't find words to say to her; I couldn't make my mouth speak to tell her that I love her, that I was so sorry I wasn't there. I couldn't. I just stood there, holding her hand and crying as her small eyes stared into mine with such pain that I felt my defenses crumbling. I was before her, unprotected from her emotion and mine. I became sick. My brother rescued me by stepping up and voicing his condolences as I gave her hand one last squeeze and moved to the coffin where my cousin - her grandchild - stood watch over her late grandfather.

He was pale, as expected, and too perfect. His lips were thin and drawn wide. His veins didn't show as they had in life. He had no tan, no imperfections in his skin that made him so utterly... him. Though I had spent the morning looking at pictures of him, I didn't recognize him laying there. It wasn't right. There was something so grotesque in how peaceful and perfect he looked. People always say that it looks as if the dead are merely sleeping. To me, it couldn't be further from the truth. I couldn't look at him for very long. I couldn't stand there. I had to get away. It scared me, what I saw. It was too real. It was too frightening.

I found a pew in the chapel toward the back, but not too far from the front to be conspicuous or disrespectful. I sat between my older brother and my fiance, praying that my father wouldn't show up, that his parents wouldn't corner me, demanding to know what I was doing there among their family. But as I watched the looped slideshow of pictures - moments of his life that I had missed, I realized with a stab of regret - I was met with nothing but kindness. Sure, my grandparents kept their distance; my grandmother sat beside her sister as she grieved for her husband as soon as I left the room. But that didn't bother me. Everyone else put aside all the bullshit going on and treated me like I belonged there, even if they didn't speak to me directly. A watery smile. An affectionate nod of the head as I passed. Family hugged me, held my hands, came up to me (as well as my brother and mum) to say how they thought about us every day and how sorry they were. They told us that we were welcome in their homes any time.

This brought some measure of comfort, but a new knife of sharp pain to my heart. It should never have taken the death of a loved one for us to realize how stupid all the fighting was. Life is too short to let the arguments between a couple of people tear a family apart into sides. If my parents argue, it's between them. If my grandparents snub us, that's their own problem. I am no longer going to let people dictate who I see and care about. Family is family. Friends are friends. Thier quarrels have nothing to do with me and I refuse to let another person I care about leave this earth without knowing that I love them.

Gender Fluid and Asexual

I've been studying myself for a long time and I've just recently made a great breakthrough. With the help of online communities, I've come to realize that I'm what people call a gender-fluid and asexual person. When people hear this, they cringe, embarrassed and awkward. They think of cross-dressing or some sexual deviation from the every day heteronormativity. However, this is not the case. In this post, I will share what both terms really mean (it's a safe-for-work topic, actually), why this is an important discovery in terms of myself, and what discovering more about yourself could mean for you.

Gender-Fluidity is More Normal than You Think
Every girl has a day where she feels more like a tomboy or more feminine than usual. This is the same for those of us who are gender fluid. Being gender fluid does not mean one is a boy and a girl. It simply means that we don't feel like any particular gender. Some days, I go all out - dress, manicure, makeup, styled hair, heels... Other days I wear an over-sized shirt, jeans, and converse. My hair? Tangled. One day, I may feel really feminine and the next feel rather the opposite. But 99% of the time, I don't feel like I have a gender. I don't see it as relevant. I'm simply a neutral, and this makes perfect sense, seeing as I'm also asexual.

Don't misunderstand. I am a girl. I know I'm a girl. I like being a girl and I wouldn't rather be any other way. I'm have a fiance, a very understanding and patient man. (This is not to say that anyone different is wrong. I'm a huge supporter of the LBGT community; I'm simply trying to put my situation into perspective.) It's simply that the labels of "man" and "woman" don't really have any relevance in my personal life. I like dresses, but I also like boxer shorts. I read the occasional sappy romance novel, but enjoy hardcore action films with blood and gore. I will wear lipstick and a suit and tie - it makes no difference to me. I don't feel like a man or a woman. I simply feel like me.

Asexuality and Relationships
Asexuality. It's not a deviation. It's not something kinky to be hidden in the dark recesses of a dungeon. Asexuality is defined as the lack of sexual attraction to anyone or low or absent interest in sexual activity. It doesn't mean that we don't get aroused sometimes, or that we don't have sex at all. It simply means that (depending on the person) 51% to 99% of the time, we don't feel aroused, feel sexually attracted to people of any gender, or see sex as something we want. To an asexual person, what we want - above all - is companionship. A deep connection with another soul, a little romance, trust, and steadfast companionship. Basically, a romantic coupling with a lot less sex than the average relationship. Again, that's not to say that asexuals never have sex and never get aroused. No matter who you are, there is still an inborn desire for coupling. It's true that some may never feel it because they never come across the right situation or person - but they do have the ability to feel it. Every person does.

It's Important to Know Who You Are
Again, it is important to know who you are. Repeat that to yourself and commit it to memory. Whether it's about your sexuality, your flaws and vices, your likes and dislikes, your morals, your boundaries, or how far you can bend until you break (metaphorically), knowing who you are is a vital part of your life. By knowing yourself - all of yourself - and learning to accept it, you can start to become comfortable in your own skin. And when you're comfortable, when you know where you stand, you can more easily accept others for who they are and find your own happiness in life. Be open to the world and new ideas. Branch out, learn new things. You may find that what you thought you wanted isn't what you need. 

I always thought that I would grow up, get married, have children, and work at a hospital. It wasn't until I started questioning myself and examining the triggers of my clinical depression that I realized... that's not what I wanted. That wasn't what I needed. In trying new things (hobbies, studies, subcultures, and so on), I began to find my own life - not the life that I had been pushed to accept by others. I'm a million miles from where I started just four years ago, when I graduated high school. I've found out a lot about myself - good and bad. The point is this: if you're unhappy, you don't have to be. If you think you're happy, test that theory. Try new things. Be brave. Don't be afraid to give yourself an honest look. Life's too short.

“When asked “What thing about humanity surprises you the most?”, the Dalai Lama answered:

“Man…. Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money. Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health. And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; the result being that he does not live in the present or the future; he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.”

Being Ignored

I've been told by therapists that I'm borderline narcissistic. Those of you who read this blog know that I am young and just starting out in the world. I can't afford regular sessions, so I save up and shell out for individual sessions on rare occasions. On all of these occasions, the discussion always turns to my father.

I didn't get much from him growing up. In fact, the only things I will credit him with are poverty, my short height, and the inherited narcissism. Again, those of you that read know that despite being classified as a highly functioning sociopath (HFS), I'm keeping it well under control and struggling to make some sort of positive impact, as well as attempting to break the negative and emotionless stereotype of sociopaths. So, likewise, I've been keeping a check on my narcissism. This is really hard to do. A lot of the time, I feel like I'm entitled to a bit more respect than I get from some people. I feel like my words and advice carry more weight than the average person because I know more about a person than they know about themselves. As such, I put a lot of thought and insight into what I say. That why it bothers me so much when they refuse to listen or act like what I say doesn't matter.

The issue we're going to discuss today is being ignored.

No one likes it, even if they don't like attention. Me? I don't like drawing attention to myself, so when I go out of my way to speak to someone or let my voice be heard, ignoring me is as bad as spitting in my face. This may sound narcissistic, and it is. But truly think about it for a moment. If you're extroverted and outgoing, imagine how it would feel to suddenly have everyone dismiss your thoughts and ideas, or to stop talking to you as if you don't exist. If you're introverted, or just misanthropic as I am, imagine deciding to stand up and say something, only to have people scoff at you and jeer or act like they can't hear you. Doesn't feel good, does it?

I was thinking about this today as I was being ignored (it gave me a lot of down time), and I realized that it's not how many people hear you, but what you say, how loudly you say it, and how strong you are. It doesn't matter if people are willing to listen. What matters is that you stood up and said it loudly. You took a stand, you stuck by it, and you will keep saying it as long as it takes to be heard.

As for me, myself, personally... I will still be annoyed. And maybe flip them off.

The Temper of an INFJ

I have a temper problem. Shocker, right? Short tempers - or strong, consuming tempers - are common among INFJs. I've heard it described as an extreme rage triggered by a major issue or built up over time on a lot of issues. Most of the time I can be a level headed person, but it took me a long time to keep it in check. (Before you ask, yes sociopaths have tempers. Often, they're portrayed as emotionless robots. As proven in previous posts through various authorities on the subject, this stereotype has no foundation and many psychologists and sociopaths are confused as to its origins.)

Tonight/early this morning was a big tipping point for me. I've been under a lot of pressure and stress - more than usual - and someone insulted me (to someone I consider a friend) in the worst way possible. To me, at least. Then, he started again on an issue he just won't let go despite many pleas to do so - including past ones from the friend whose life he's meddling in. Now, I'll admit I've never liked him. I realize at this time why: I knew guys like him. They were abusive to my friends (acquaintances in high school that I called friends out of expectation) - and a couple of them to me. Physically and emotionally. It set off some red flags with me. So, you can guess what happened next: The classic INFJ rage.

In that moment, I hated him more than I've hated all but one in my entire life - and that's really saying something. I wished him great harm. I imagined him suffering in many ways, especially in those ways he was inflicting upon those very few I care for.

And then I had a moment of clarity: why should he get to make me feel like this? Who is he to make me feel this bad? I control me - all of me. I control my emotions, not this arrogant prick. And that's when I did something that I've rarely done before. I asked for advice. What I received really helped.

I was told to take deep breaths and get out of myself for a while. Call upon my objective side and look at this problem from a neutral perspective. Look at this one problem, and then examine the world at large; see how small and insignificant this moment is. Then I was told to make a choice; go back into myself and decide if I wanted to let this one insignificant moment ruin my night and piss me off, or get a grip on the bigger picture and choose to let it go.

I chose to let it go.

I put on some nostalgic music, poured myself a drink, and reminded myself that I'm striving to be a good person and not allow myself to fall into stereotypes about what I am.

Fuck him. I'm not going to let him matter to me anymore.

My relaxing, nostalgic music:

The Anti-Sociopathic Image and Common Questions I Ask: Part 2

In the last post, I opened up about being classified as a sociopath and revealing the fact that not all sociopaths are bad people. Sociopaths are classified as such because the way they think, the emotions they feel, and how they process things. However, the only press they seem to get is bad press because only bad sociopaths are out there getting the attention. Good sociopaths are usually low-key. I'm sure it started for other reasons, but now it's due to the fact that people will start to stereotype them as evil. In fact, today I was researching groups on Facebook and other sites, looking for groups of highly functioning sociopaths (HFS) like me to discuss things with. I found none, as I expected would happen, but what I did find was... Well, see for yourself.

Sociopaths were mocked and hated, being pegged as no more than vile, emotionless people who exist only to hurt and manipulate everyone. This made me realize that if we're to clear out the misconceptions and introduce the world to another side of sociopaths, there is a lot of work to be done.

How An HFS Can Be Good?

After looking around (quite a bit; there are so many negative things out there), I've found that most agree a good sociopath is that way because of a moral code of their own devising.

"We all use short cuts to make decisions. It would be impossible for us to make a fully informed, reasoned decision every time such a decision was necessary. Empaths use emotional shortcuts, sociopaths don't/can't, so we come up with some other shortcut. A lot of sociopaths use shortcuts like "anything goes," or "I am only in it for me," but I have also met/talked to many sociopaths who have a more "principled" approach to life. I have met sociopaths who are utilitarian, a la Jeremy Bentham, or even Rawlsian. Some of my readers use religious codes to guide their actions. I use the shortcut of economic efficiency, gap-filled by Judeo-Christian ethics, which for me acts like a mental/emotional exercise regime -- monotonous drudgery, but ultimately good for mental/emotional health. The one thing that sociopath "codes" tend to have in common is that they don't fully map with prevailing social norms." Sociopath World

I have a moral code of my own. It's a mixture of the religious ethics I was raised on, some Eastern philosophy I adopted (as best I could), and what I was taught by one of my favorite bands, The Crüxshadows.

The band formed in '92, the same year I was born. I began listening to them at the age of 7 when an older brother of a friend went to see them perform in Atlanta. Later, I was excited to realize that they were (and still are) based out of the same city we lived in at the time. As I got older and life became more difficult (and that's a grave understatement), I turned to them for inspiration in deciding what was right and what was wrong. They became part of my moral code and to this day, still help me determine my actions.

Do not injustice to another
Defend the weak and innocent
Let truth and honor always guide you
Let courage find the light within

Stand up when no one else is willing
Act not in hatred or in spite
Be to this world as a perfect knight
Even if it means your life
- The Crüxshadows, "Sophia"

All of their lyrics are just as inspiring, and even the band is down-to-earth, caring, polite, and just genuinely good people. Through them, I have come to model myself into a person that people look up to, just as I look up to them. In combination with some of the religious ethics I was brought up with and some of those previously mentioned Eastern philosophies, I have become a person who is level-headed, realistic, practical, and as noble as I can be (in terms of defending others and standing my ground). It's rather difficult to stand up for others because I'm not really bothered by too much, unless it happens to me.

But is this who I really am? Or is it just who I want to be? Since this whole situation began, I've realized a lot of things I've fooled myself (and others, unknowingly) about. I always adjust myself to be what each person needs. What if I'm doing that to myself, changing the way I act in accordance with who I want to become and how I want to see myself? But that's another matter entirely - one I'm still exploring. So, we'll save that for later.

Right or Wrong? A Personal Look.
All through my life at different stages, I've asked myself how I feel about right and wrong. How would I act in certain situations? Recently, while taking another look at myself and trying to learn about myself in relation to the world, I've realized something: right and wrong doesn't matter.

I know what the social norm is. I know what you think is right and wrong. I know what I think is right and wrong. But it will not affect my decision in the end (in a majority of situations).

For example, the social norm says that stealing is wrong. The religion I was brought up in says stealing is wrong. You are the internet, so I cannot speak for you. In most cases, I would agree that my moral guidelines would say that stealing is wrong. So I wouldn't steal. But what about that starving woman? The one who gave everything for her three children, whose husband drank away all their life savings and left them for dead to be with another woman. What if there are no food banks, she can't wait that long to be approved for government assistance, and she has applied everywhere she can reach but is not hired. She steals to feed her children. If she is caught, she would be arrested. Her kids would probably go through the system and she would be shamed. But why? In this case, I believe survival is the most important thing. Who cares what is right or wrong? It's subjective.

Even in many other situations that don't seem so ambiguous. My decisions are not based on right or wrong. My moral code does have sway, but ultimately, I will do what is right for me. As long as (in compliance with my moral code) it doesn't harm anyone and it helps me, I really don't see too much problem. Of course, every situation is different and many other factors will come into play. But you can see what I'm getting at, can't you? What society (and everything else) says is right or wrong doesn't matter too much in the end. What matters is the intent, the reason behind it, the effect, and the outcome - both desired and actual.

Conclusion...
Life is made up of gray areas and unpredictable variables. Decisions shouldn't be based on a black-and-white, one extreme or another system of right or wrong. What we should be factoring into our decisions is what we intend to do, why, who or what it will affect, what we hope to get out of it, and what we will get out of it. Then we should weigh the pros and cons against our moral guidelines and religion (if we have any) and make a decision from there. 

So stop and ask: What am I doing? Why am I doing this? What negative impact(s) will it have? What am I hoping to accomplish? What are the possible outcomes? Do my morals agree with this? What will happen if I don't do this? Now... what will I do?