I live in a world where everyone is a cardboard cutout, a puppet, a means to an end, a fling to be discarded, a way to find connection, to plaster-over the lonelyness of my irreperable disconnection from mankind.
I'm a borderline, but I'm also a sociopath. It's a really weird combination. I'm both sensitive, vulnerable, and overly emotional, and yet detached from humanity. I'm virtually unable to find connection with others, and yet I need attachment, that completion.
When I'm by myself I default to a state of emotional vacancy and intolerable boredom, every moment must be filled by some activity or entertainment, and nothing holds my interest for long. The only interruptions are those of my own making, occasional manic episodes followed by deep troughs of depression.
And so I seek out people. Clubbing is my favorite social activity, constant superficial mingling combined with an environment friendly to drinking and drug use. A little intoxication goes a long way, people are drawn to me. I seem bright, happy, filled with life. My mix of total arrogance and self depricating humor is somehow magnetic, it makes it relatively easy to find friends or sexual partners, at least for the short term. I get bored of people just as quickly as everything else.
But in some ways, this is good. I'm usually attracted to the wrong sort of guys, the ones who share at least a small bit of my sociopathic nature. Men who're weak, the nice ones, the stupid ones, are just temporary amusement, people to mock and toy with until they realize they're not going to get laid and look elsewhere. I'd have to be desperate to sleep with someone like that.
And yet when I spend time with individuals, or small groups, I become hypersensative. Little things become big deals, small hurts bleed freely, and the cool, smooth emotional void that fills my days alone is replaced by a roller-coaster of wild reactions. Sometimes the presence and demands of others becomes an intollerable burden. Slowly, and then all at once, everything becomes horribly irritating.
Their words crawl under my skin and cannot be shed, everything they say to try to make things better only makes it worse, their presence alone is intolerable. I burst, scream at them, obscenities perhaps, or maybe I just tell them they should never have been born. Then, realizing this is sort of thing will harm my relationship with them, I apologize quickly. It's incencere, of course, all my apologies are. Sincerity of that nature would require I thought there was anything wrong with screaming at them, that I thought they were a real person. There are no people in my world, just placeholders where people are supposed to be.
Amazingly, most people seem to be able to tolerate this kind of behavior long enough for me to get bored with them. They might get upset, but I apologize so quickly, I'm obviously not myself and it usually doesn't last long, especially if I can get stoned to help calm myself down. I'm good at manipulation, at making everything seem reasonable and okay.
But the more I get to know someone, the less I respect them. I don't know why exactly, perhaps because in one way that matters greatly to me they are invarriably weak. I don't have a concience, I'm glad I don't, it's something I would never change, but invariably the people I'm with are different. Things like right and wrong matter to them, and that's just stupid.
Or maybe it's simpler, sooner or later everyone becomes subject to my manipulation, and so lose a portion of my respect. It's unavoidable, I never stop. I've tried not to for the purpose of relationships, but I'm unable. Any time I talk (at least, when I'm in a rational headspace) I'm accutely aware of my word choice, I say things the best way I can to get what I want. Even at my saddest, most miserable moment of depression I'm acutely aware of how I express my emotions, controlling that ex
When I was young, my mother learned never to trust my tears. Sometimes I think some of the worst ways she treated me during my teenage years were actually defense mechanisms. It probably helped her, but as my borderline blossemed in my late teens my emotions were never believed. She could inadvertantly hurt me, and then tell me it was my fault for over-reacting, or never even believe that I was hurting at all.
But whatever the reason for the lack of respect, and perhaps it is just familiarity breeding contept (I'm good at contempt), I eventually become mildly sadistic to everyone I know. I order them around, constantly needing to assert my dominance. Mild putdowns are the norm, and while I make an effort to say both positive and negative things, it's usually the negative ones that come out of my mouth. If someone is catty with me, all the better. I enjoy that sort of thing greatly, and usually it escalates until all we're doing is bitching at eachother. Then I get bored and tell them to chill out.
Having just told you all these terrible things about myself, you might be surprised to find that I generally consider myself a decent person. Oh, I get depressed and hate myself sometimes, but it's not because of my minor cruelties, or even my intermittant criminal behavior (a good subject for another story, perhaps), it's more... vague. Open ended self hatred, I'm a loathsome person because <fill in the blank>. There isn't really a reason for it at all.
But most of the time, when I'm not really thinking about it, I'd say I'm not a bad person, maybe even a good person. I'd tell you that I'm nice most of the time, and in some ways I am. I tend to be free with things that don't matter a whole lot to me, like small amounts of money, drugs, little favors. I'm a good listener, and a good confidant. And with the people I'm close to I reveal some of my vulnerability and confusion, and that's always endeering.
But I rather doubt most people could look at me ob
Surprisingly enough, I have been in love before (another topic for another story perhaps, it was a very violently turbulent romance), and I even have a best friend. My only real, true friend, though I usually use the word casually. She's a hippy, a nice person, she recycles and feels it's her purpose to help people. I don't understand how I formed a connection with her, it's something I rarely do with anyone, but strangely enough it happened. And for that matter, I don't know how she can tolerate me. Perhaps in part it's because she doesn't play along with my superiority games, and is okay with being bossed around a bit. And she doesn't have a hard time with my emotional surges, she's very empathic, and she's bipolar herself so she goes through similar problems. Sometimes I even (awkwardly, because I don't have much empathy) comfort her. I try, anyway.
Anyway, that's who I am, or at least my current perception of who I am. It changes frequently, I'm an unstable person and my self-assessments are naturally influenced by the moment.