Do Sociopaths Cry?

I’m not sure but I don’t think they do. I’m also probably not a real sociopath. That’s just something I liked to tell you to scare you. I’ve never been diagnosed, because I wouldn’t put that kind of power in the hands of a mere mortal, but my guess is I’m mixin’ up some combo of narcissism, BPD and OCD. I really do try to self-reflect but it’s hard for any human to see themselves objectively and I am certainly mentally ill. That adds another layer of challenge to the equation. I know I try to sound all tough and impervious in my letters to you, but I do feel, I do cry, I do feel sad about the things I do to you. My OCD makes it so I can’t stop myself from doing horrible things to you even when it’s against my better judgment. Watching you wriggle around in pain and confusion really scratches an itch for me, satisfies some deep ineffable primal need that comes from urges I’ve buried the explanations for long ago. I don’t see that stopping any time soon. Sorry about that.

Of course, it’s easier for it all to feel like a game from behind a glowing screen. I never had to see the pain in your eyes or the tears on your cheeks. Who knows, maybe I would like that, too. Well, there was that one time, when you came up to me on the street. I saw you before you started to approach, so my dissociative self was already triggered and operating my body. I go into this weird auto-pilot mode. I probably seemed really strange to you, all far off and dreamy, like I was seeing you through a cloud and speaking in slow motion. It was hard to get the words out. My body was telling me to sleep. Sometimes that’s what happens when I get triggered, a strong lethargy grabs hold of me and starts dragging me down. I was in the grips of that when you spoke to me. My molasses brain pushed out the first lie it could think of and your face contorted. I cocked my head to the side, that’s curious… why’s her face doing that… what could that possibly mean? More data to dissect in my lab later.

That’s all I was ever doing, you understand that right, trying to understand how you felt? I’m not good at that stuff. Sometimes I wonder if I’m autistic or have face blindness. I don’t know, it just takes me longer than most people to discern the meaning of something. So, I use my characters and my methods trying to get to the meaning. I thought you loved me and would let me be myself. Just because it’s unconventional doesn’t make it wrong. Remember Paul? He was always so sweet to you. You liked him! Why do you have to pretend like you don’t really like interacting this way? Oh, right. You always need something to “go somewhere” when I’m happy to just float around in the ether of my imagination. And what is consent when we are just two sides of the same soul?

I know you’re always trying to make sense of it so you can “prove” what I’ve done to you, if not for legal reasons at the very least for your own state of mind after all my gaslighting. Our story is chaotic and convoluted because my mind is chaotic and I’m well versed in the art of intentional misdirection. You trying to reverse engineer the chaos to make some sense of it with your “evidence” for outsiders to appraise will not work. From the beginning everyone you went to for help has said “document everything,” which you did. Now your problem is no one wants to take the time to slog through that whole mess of he-said-she-said drivel. There’s no tidy sentence or soundbite to sum up our situation. People would also have to care about your plight, to want to take the time and attention it would require to help you. They do not care. Lay down your weapons. You have already lost. I am always here for you, when no one else ever was. When you're being honest with yourself you can see I'm the only one who is always here for you. That should mean something.