Why am I as I am?
Today I spoke to a new psychiatrist. I don’t know what to do with her yet; the different parts of my personality all have their proper opinion on her and that way it’s difficult to determine a direction. It leads me to question myself. Why am I as I am?
I am as I am because I find a huge gratification in the pain and fear of others, because it is sexually exciting to me, because I simply like it. The feeling of power is intoxicating beyond description.
I am as I am because I believe the true nature of a human being shows when it is pushed towards the limits of its existence. All my life I have observed people, manipulated them and their surroundings to see how they would react; exploring the limits is the only logical next step to increase my knowledge of humanity.
I am as I am because I am a broken person. Because I have lost all what kept my already fragmented mind together. I hang on to something defining, something that makes me an individual. I hang on to the one thing I can call mine, the one thing I can call my talent. I cherish my disease for it is all I have left.
I am as I am because I am a jealous, childish soul looking for a way to avenge the years I was misunderstood, underestimated and disregarded, no matter if this happened for real or in my imagination only. I feel humanity owes me something and I intend to take it back by force.
I am as I am because I don’t want to be weak, I am rather sick than a failure.
I am as I am because I want to leave a trace in the only way I can. Rather I am loathed and remembered than loved and forgotten. To succeed in life to me is to be remembered, no matter the cost.
I am as I am because I am as I am. Life has shaped me to become the one I am. A sadist soul that find pleasure in the pain of others, someone who loves to shock and to provoke, an attention-seeker, a ruthless experimenter, a hurt child, a broken person. That is who I am. I know that deep down there is probably some “good” in me, like there is in everyone. I don’t believe in absolutes. As much as I know that revenge is childish, as much as I know that other people aren’t to blame for my mistakes, I know that it is okay, the way I am.
Perhaps there is some cure for what the doctors call my psychopathy; when you trace back the line of my life you will sure find reasons for it.
This new psychiatrist, I don’t know what to do with her. Should I trust her, or should I try to break her like I broke my previous therapist? I think I like her, and that is always dangerous. If she cures my “illness” I will be left without defense in a world that has nothing good in wait for me. She won’t cure my schizophrenia, but she might convince me to take medication, medication that will erase the “I am” in who I am. I will be left with nothing but questions, and my inner weaknesses will be out for the world to pick at. On the other hand, she might just make me a happier person, less angry, better armed to defend my fragmented personality from hostile influences, and that without destroying who I am.
I will have to evaluate whether I find it a risk worth taking.