Tests of Psychopathy

I took a psychopath test the other day. Bad news. I’m not one. I really was hoping for a positive return on my profile. I say profile, in truth it was an internet test. But, I don’t know, it looked professional. The borders were high market, and that’s good enough for me. I judge all my doctors by their office furnishings. I took a full personality test, hoping to find that I’m ill. Well, wouldn’t you? I mean, it’s an excuse isn’t it. An excuse for oddities and embarrassing moments. I assure you that my nights would be more rested knowing that the time I began talking about the importance of parental care, in front of a self professed orphan, were down to some evil psychopath gene instead of social ineptitude.. Sadly, no. I’m in fact normal on that front. I had, with undeniable smugness, put on the test that I could very easily manipulate people if I needed, and that I could use emotion to escape situations I didn’t like. I marked down that my empathetic tendencies wavered regularly and that my sympathy extended no further than an awareness of obligation. A wave of disappointment crept across my desperate mind as I read the results. Average. I’m average. Never such an ugly word could be uttered about one’s psyche. I’d much rather be damaged goods than a carefully packaged and preserved averagely normal product. In histrionic tendencies, I was mild. After looking up what the word meant, I agreed to some extent. Perhaps if I wasn’t so histrionic, my exclamation of parental importance would have been less noticeable. Perhaps even under my breath, in which case an awkward scenario would never have arisen. I’m not OCD according to the test. This came as a surprise, because I do regularly check light switches, and it seems that OCD stretches further than just light awareness. I make sure taps are turned off, but I suppose that affects the money tight as well as the order bound. I’m not a sociopath either, which once more disappointed me because with both that and psychopathic tendencies struck from my medical notes, I can no longer pursue a career in business. That’s what they say isn’t it, that most CEO’s are psychopaths. In fact, I’m sure one or two are, and the myth has been spread by other CEO’s wanting to seem equally unhinged. I never want to work in business but like a career in football, it’s something I could always playfully flirt with. To follow the flirtation of business, now, would be like a legless man flirting with the idea of playing central midfield. The final personality disorder on the list, finally offered me the thing I had been looking for. RED ALERT it said (with histrionic tendencies, if I may say so as a sufferer). YOU ARE DANGEROUSLY HIGH IN THIS DISORDER, it continued. Now, a psychopath who may be high in the disorder, may well murder someone. I’m no expert, as you can discern from the sweeping statements, but I think a psychopath of the highest order, may well be the one I fear murder from the most. A dangerously high histrionic personality might live their whole life in performance and become maudlin at the drop of a hat. A sort of Arkadina of reality. They may take everything to heart and profess camply anything they should say. I, however, am a HIGHLY observed, RED ALERT candidate for the disorder which can be found in most models, I’m sure — Narcissism. I’m a high alert narcissist. Now, this would be easier to stomach if I could admit to staring at myself in the mirror for prolonged periods. Instead, I spend a few minutes roughly molding my unshaped hair into something that looks as un wig-like as possible before entering the world. It seems, therefore, that my narcissism is rooted inwardly, with regard to how I think of myself and the people around me. Take for example, a question that I thought fairly simple — “Would the world be better run, if you were in charge?”. Now, the simple, unthinking answer would of course be — “Oh no, of course not. I couldn’t do it.” And I may well say that if ever asked. Though the train of events which led to me being seriously asked if I could run the world, perhaps may never arise. But really, think about it! You could do it. You could run the world. I don’t mean democratically, I mean RUN THE WORLD. Maybe you couldn’t do the finances, I couldn’t either, but I could definitely run the world. You know, perhaps this is actually very narcissistic. I’m starting to see it now. I think it comes down to this — If I were asked whether I was better than my peers — I would absolutely answer no. And that may be the English within me coming out (and actually I wish it would GET out). And surely the inward narcissist is better than the outward. Because, at least I hide my feeling of superiority, which I don’t even think I have. Anyway, the website’s great, so go and look it up. Well…it is great, but it might be a little better If I helped.

But why do people feel compelled, as I did, to discover an imperfection. It’s one of two things, either people enjoy telling stories about problems they have or we live in such a world of perfection seekers, that the rest of us want to define our sub-standard nature. I’d like to imagine in a solidarity driven hope that it’s the latter. But as the number of self-proclaimed autistics and dyslexics rise, I can only assume to be the afore mentioned. Don’t assume that I’m saying dyslexia or autism don’t exist — I’m just suggesting that perhaps one should be professionally diagnosed with such a problem, before subscribing to its mailing list. Did you know that people actually go around now, saying they have Autism, without ever seeing a doctor? I mean, people actually do this, and others accept it! And the more disorders you have, the more interesting you might be at party. Could you imagine what a psychopathic Autistic individual would do to the party scene in Los Angeles? One as damaged as that could set buildings alight — both in atmosphere and literally, and get away with it as well. I went to school with someone that told me in confidence that he claimed he had dyslexia, only to lower the expectations of his work. That’s incredible, to me. In fact, isn’t that psychopathic? To manipulate a system as broadly derided as the education system, may not seem brilliant — but it shows us that people from the age of 13 — which we were at the time, know and understand the implications of disability and expectation. I don’t think it’s simply an attempt at an easy ride through life, however. I think it’s an inherent need to belong to a club, with people that are like minded, like abled or now in fact like disabled. It’s an attempt to find meaning! We all do it, some more overt than others. I for example wouldn’t attend a comic convention — mainly because those people aren’t my people, but even if they were I would find myself strongly resisting it. To be seen in costume is a state I would like to reserve for perhaps moments before death, or in the midst of escaping a country. But some people flock to the conventions to find like-minded people. Some get married, some simply swap plastic molds of actors in costume themselves, and some get things autographed by “stars” who are so tenuously linked with stardom, that it is not unbelievable to see people literally worshiping the ground stepped on by celebrities in the future. If I was however going through a crisis — let’s say a painful divorce, in which I lose the house, the car, the garden and even mutual friends. If I was left utterly alone, I may fake a sort of love for comics or celluloid reproductions, and then go to these conventions to feel a sort of kinship with others. And maybe if I was a psychopath, I would be able to meet up with psychopaths and say — “We’re both coping on this earth, with similar disorders, shall we discuss?” And we then would discuss, and for a few moments life would seem very real and present, and the irrelevancy of the earth and all that surrounds it would melt away, because we would connect. Well, that does sound nice. But I’m not a psychopath. And narcissists are awful to talk to. So I’m unconnected on the earth. So like the faux-autistic people that are out there, I still am on the lookout for a sub-culture to put myself in. But as I’m sure the psychopaths would find out during their meeting, I am of the realization that after those few moments of brief alignment and place subside, you are essentially talking to yourself. The same ideas come bouncing back, is all you’ll get in the proverbial conversational tennis match. Somebody needs to be hitting the ball back, in this scenario you’re playing doubles with no one on the other side. That’s how the Nazi’s took off, in fact, this is how all violent movements arise:. Like-minded people, angry that they’ve got no-one to play tennis with. I’m straying from the literal with that. A room of right wing thinkers is as dull as a room of left wing thinkers, and no room is more exciting than a room of right wing thinkers with one outspoken left wing thinker, and vice versa. Rap battles would be dull if each verse was about agreement. And yet we still search for brief conformation in life’s struggle and our way of going about it. Alan Bennett, in the History Boys, spoke truthfully when he talked about those moments in literature in which you absolutely connect with something you have read, which of course is paradoxical, because we all remember times we have done that — and in our agreement we are having such a moment at present. But the key to life seems to be struggle — struggle with weather, struggle with loneliness and the struggle to find like-minded people, before facing the struggle of getting rid of them. And that’s probably why a person might diagnose themselves with Dyslexia, because it’s a struggle, and humans like struggle, or at the very least, the recognition that they are struggling. But I’m just a narcissist, apparently struggling with the oppression of inner thoughts that are grandeur in nature and unpleasant in verse. Not very valiant, but perhaps, a public service.