Am I a Psychopath?

Part. 24 Am I a Psychopath?

I wondered if I was a psychopath when I was learning about all these serial killers and the ways to assess if they were mentally ill or not for proper sentencing. This course is now called psychology of delinquency now I believe (https://psychology.osu.edu/curriculum/bs). According to that course, I did have some traits of a psychopath. I had a lack of remorse or guilt, had superficial emotional expressions, lacked empathy, and I didn’t like accepting responsibilities. On top of that, I have a constant need for stimulation, and maybe could be manipulative, definitely had a grandiose sense of self-worth. I might still do. 

I thought really hard and deep on this. My conclusion is that becoming a psychopath and thinking killing is saving, killing is loving, killing is passionate, is only one of the outcomes of being deeply depressed from a young age. Pre-teen depression could affect a kid’s personalities and life trajectories so much so that I would use “云泥之别” in Chinese to describe the difference, which essentially means the difference between clouds and soil. This is why I often feel like I have no choice, because I can feel constantly the scar of decades of depression has left me in my consciousness, in my ego, in my brain, the burning pain, it never leaves me. I know damn well what happened to me, for how long, by who, for what reason. I remember all the details, which makes all the pain less bearable, the more the hate more extreme. 

I’m not a psychopath. I have too much love and hope for humanity and life to be one. I love life, I like any form of life, plants, germs, cats, people, now after the FBI put it out there that there are aliens, I guess aliens too. Life, or the act of living, trying, creating, surviving, fulfilling, leaving behind a track, a legacy, a future, is quite breathtakingly beautiful itself. I want to be here, to witness the future, to witness life.

I’m not a psychopath. I’m a sentinel. I’m hyper-sensitive, and for the first half of my life I got overwhelmed by it, but now I’m starting to enjoy it. No one knows how this feels, to this excruciating detail. Only I do. I’m hyper-sensitive. I know all the texture, all the details. I’m not a psychopath, I’m always the first one to know when something goes wrong, and yes, I get affected and sick, but no, I can’t grow insensitive to it. I just won’t survive. So I ran. 

I’m not a psychopath. I might be cold on the outside, but I’m burning hot on the inside. I’m passionate. I’m obsessive. I’m persistent. I’m honestly if you’d seen any of Nezha 1 or 2, you’d know that’s pretty much me.  Aren’t psychopaths not supposed to feel things? Then why do I feel so much anger, so much pain, so much love, so much obsession? 

Part. 25 One Obituary Every Decade

In the version of Little Women directed by Greta Gerwig, one of the March sisters played by Florence Pugh said, “I only want to be the greatest, and if not that, nothing”. Or at least something along those lines. I used to think that way, but now I know I can’t be the greatest, especially after getting to know Da Vinci, Picasso, Van Gough, Monet, or just anyone everyone says is great, is pretty damn great. 

I can’t be the greatest, but I still have a shot at trying to be someone great. Or at least the greatest version of myself, “the best version I can possibly be” as Greta Gerwig again, says in Lady Bird through Saoirse Ronan. I often wonder, what is the greatest version of myself? What could possibly be the greatest version of myself? Is that saying, who I am right now, is not good enough? I’m not sure to what degree I want to agree with that. 

Wanting to be the greatest of everyone would be an ambitious dream for a kid, but wanting to be the greatest version of yourself as an adult is as rare to come by as a fairytale. So I guess, I am, in that way, an unicorn. Despite everything I’ve learned and unlearned, wish I did know, and wish I didn’t know, I am still hopeful. I still would like to see how far I can go, given that 32 has gotten me this far already. I never thought I’d make it past 30, things weren’t exactly looking bright for a long time. Ever since then I’ve decided to write an obituary for myself every decade, and celebrate surviving another decade. 

Here’s my obituary for 20-30. 

Sunny Xiaoxin Sun, who has her Chinese name given  by her father, and her English name given by a Mexican girl in Tahoe during lunch break, has lived her life in anger and hate. She did not like anyone she came across, and she did not think it was ever possible for her to open up. She was wrong. Apparently in the land of the free, she found something for herself, her inner child. She took the little self with her, and ventured out into the wild. She was very brave, and made it far. She learned to love, forgive, grief, be vulnerable and she grew a lot from it. However, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t defeat her mental illness, and was therefore died of suicide at age of 30. However, according to her notes, she doesn’t regret her life and would like everyone to be happy for her instead of being sad. 

Except that never happened. I did almost die, and part of me died, part of me was reborn. Now it’s 32 and onwards. But this exercise did put things in perspective for me, it made me want to reinvent myself every decade.

Part. 26 Reinventing Myself Every Decade

I’m 32. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing. When my dad was 30, he already had me. I’m not sure how long my eggs will be good for, but I do know that I want to have kids, which means I should maybe look into freezing eggs soon, but isn’t that expensive, wait, where was I again? 

I’m 32. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m still the same person I was when i was 14, but less depressed, more stable, a lot more confident, know what I want, know how to get what I want, will do what I don’t feel comfortable doing for what i want, learning that all these things I thought i was not ok with I actually don’t care for, and that what I truly need to live and be happy is actually very little. 

I’d like to reinvent myself every decade, that sounds like an extremely exciting idea, an idea I would like to try. I’m a very greedy person, or some people call that being ambitious. What it’s called doesn't matter to me, what matters to me is I want more, more time, more experience, more growth, more everything. Like I said, I only live once. But general relativity tells us, if you travel too fast, when you return, even though you still look the same, you’d realize that your family and friends, everyone you care about would have aged and maybe passed away, like Matthew McConaughey in Interstellar. When I change too fast, I leave people behind. I don’t want to leave people behind, I want to stay with everyone I like and I've met at all times. See? I’m greedy. Or should I say, ambitious. I want everything, everywhere, all at once. 

I’d like to reinvent myself every decade on the outside. I’d change my hair. I’d change my makeup, I’d change the way I dress, I’d change the words I use, I’d change the food I eat. But I won’t change the way I think, the way I speak, the way I act, the way I would always tell you things you don’t want to hear about, say it’s for your own sake, only to tell you to shut up when you do the same to me. I won’t change the way I forcefully hug Moira, or Luna, or whoever it might be then, even if they get super shy and want to run away. I won’t change the way I remember all the little details of things you said, movies you like, music you listen to, your quarks and differences. I won’t change the way my eyes light up when I get excited. I won’t change the way I cry when I get hungry. I won’t change the way I look at you, make fun of you, jump on you from behind, or accidentally kick your balls. 

I’d like to reinvent myself every decade, but on the inside I’d still be the same. I’m still shy, curious, easily excited, can’t hide my feelings, but I’m not gullible anymore, and I’m not scared anymore, I’m not confused, I know what I can, or cannot do. I’m confident. I know who I am, and whom I’m still becoming. I realized I had to be happy. I had to be happy to keep going. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. I’ve now learned to play the game sustainably, and I kind of like it. 

I’d like to reinvent myself every decade, but I also see the beauty of staying the same. I see the beauty of having routines, of doing the same things everyday, of repeating yourself over and over again, because every time you do it, it’s as if it’s your first time. Every time you do it, it’d be like you’ve never done it before, it’d be like a newborn seeing the world for the first time, it’d be a man meeting the love of his life. The law of diminishing marginal utilities doesn’t work here any more, there’d be no habituation, or desensitization, everytime be as brilliant and vibrant.  

Trying new things is exciting, but knowing something old and familiar from inside out like no one else is also such depth that only time and practice can bring. I’d like to know something to that level, something deep, something despite practicing over and over, there’s always room for better, I can always get better. I’d like to require such depth in a certain practice to be the greatest version of myself. I’d like to be trained, like a monk, to restrain myself from all wants, only needs. It’d make me sharp, fast, and focused. I could bury myself in books to cope with almost anything. Until I wasn’t sure if I could be sad and still be a great person. I think for me to be a great person, I have to be happy.