I Think I Could Have This Disorder. (or Something Like It)

Warning: this is a really long story. But it covers about every detail I can think of.

All my life, I thought I was completely normal. The youngest member of a happy, balanced family that has always loved me and given me everything I needed. No bad things here, no evidence of mental disorders or crime running through the family.

I was just a shy, quiet, perfectionist, goody-two-shoes girl who drew pictures all day and never interfered with anyone else's stuff. I was very sensitive - I would cry at the most trivial things that hurt my feelings, and I could have a bit of a temper and lash out if I got too wound up. I was a really good student, but I had trouble with the social scene: girls would turn against me (for good reason, I could be a real whiny little *****!), and boys would tease me and make me cry. Occasionally I got so upset that I threw an object at them. I wished I could have a best friend.

My teen years were the best years of my life. I MADE myself hide the bad things. I tried to come across as confident and bubbly. It worked at first, till people realized how shy and awkward I really was and lost interest. I longed to be included and to have friends, but it was difficult breaking into a group. Eventually I did, and it was great being included - yet, I was still not that social, always being the "quiet one", never seen without my sketchbook, never being the instigator for social gatherings. I had a couple of boyfriends, but I had to end those relationships as I realized that I didn't really love them (but I really liked one of them as a friend). I also got tired of being a diligent student and I slacked off, sacrificing top grades for a fun social life and doing things I REALLY wanted to, like drawing. Anyway, despite these things, I was pretty happy. I also had a best friend who I only ever knew online, and we were friends for a long time, talking to each other almost every day.

I'll mention here that in all these 17-18 years of my life (I'm 19 now), I never even thought about harming others - er, except for those boys in primary school, but that was only two or three times. My best friend had an unstable life and I got a bit disgusted when she talked about her violent/bad thoughts (she couldn't seem to help it though), or made her persona kill innocent people in the stories we made up together. I remember being upset and crying my eyes out when she wasn't speaking to me for a week, and another time when I thought she had left me forever.

Also, I think the "pretending to be confident" thing worked a little too well, because now I find it so easy to fake smiles and a mildly friendly, polite personality when meeting people - because I don't want to come across as a jerk, even if don't really like the person that much inside. I believe it stems from wanting to be accepted by other people in my school years. I keep it only to a bare minimum though, I don't deliberately reel people in or anything. But anyways...

In the first year after I finished high school, I should have gone and hung out with friends, looked for a job, studied, or something - but I didn't, I just chose to laze around instead. I never left the house except to do music lessons and youth orchestra. I kept talking to my best friend, but I realized I was becoming bored and irritated about her (we fought a lot). Eventually I got bored being at home and had a temporary job over Christmas.

The year after that was 2012. I was still working in January. That's when I started to feel really unhappy for the first time. The feeling plagued me all through to March, and then it went away - but then it would keep coming back, only a couple of months apart at first but these phases of unhappiness kept coming closer and closer together. I was doing an art course but I felt like I didn't enjoy art anymore. My best friend detected that I was losing interest in the friendship and she was hurt and angry. I was getting scared about the unhappy spells.

In August, my unhappiness came back, and this time it stayed. I realized that nothing made me very happy anymore. I started questioning the meaning of life. I broke up with my best friend, who now thought of me as a horrible *****, and I started questioning myself as a person. I wondered why I didn't seem to care about people, about ANYTHING anymore. I wondered why I didn't want to be with people, with my friends. I wondered if I was a sociopath. I got scared about where my life would take me; I felt like I was going crazy. Eventually I questioned WHY it's so damn important to care about other people, WHY should I care about anyone except for myself? (I've always been kind of selfish though, even slightly attention-seeking in an odd, non-extroverted sort of way.)

These analytical thoughts escalated through the months and have being doing so right up to this point in time. It has finally come to the extent where I get thoughts, at random, about doing bad things to people that are near me: pushing them, shoving them, even stabbing them. Logically I know that it is wrong to do so, because they're innocent people with lives of their own - and yet, the nasty side of my brain says, "but why should you care? Would you even feel any remorse for killing someone, or watching someone die without saving them?" And the answer is: no. I wouldn't. (I think.) These thoughts are kept at bay when I'm distracted by, interested in, or focused on something unrelated.

I tried telling myself that as long as I don't feel a desire to do bad things, then it's OK. But I actually... can't tell, anymore. I can't tell whether my imagination is going way out of control and I'm merely convincing myself that this is the way I feel, or if it actually IS the way I feel. The other day, I was alone in a house with a perfectly nice girl my age, and I sat down next to her and then the dark side of my brain thought: "There's no-one else around. Kill her!" Why? I don't frickin know why. Either I'm going through the weirdest frickin phase where my racy, paranoid mind thinks I'm a psychopath, or I actually AM a psychopath.

I feel like I just don't care whether someone lives or dies. I feel like it could be almost a GOOD feeling to just shove someone, or sink a knife blade into their flesh. I don't feel like I want anything to do with other people anymore, I don't care about their feelings or their lives, and I don't know if I ever really have done. I'm only ever interested in other people if they live up to my little scale of "interestingness", and even then I get bored of them quickly. I have no passions, nothing I particularly want to do with my life, not even art or music. Nothing is interesting enough for me. I can't be bothered with being good anymore, I don't see a point. I'm merely exasperated with warm fuzzy things nowadays. Apart from the odd emotion, I feel dead inside. I feel like there have been subtle clues to all of this in the story of my life, and that the only reason I didn't detect it before was because I was distracted by everything else.

And the funny thing is, I never felt this way a year ago. At all. That, and even though I don't feel a desire to change myself for the better, I still cry and get depressed about it. How strange.
behindmywall behindmywall
18-21, F
Jan 9, 2013