Confession Of A Shamed Mind Born Broken

It took me years to understand myself. People rejected me at a very young age. Sure I have scars like any other my age, but I’m also differently wired.

When People Disgust Me

At a young age, I couldn’t stand how people close to me, except for my grandpa, would remove a stain from my face or simply wash my hands. I did not like the contact. As I grew older, I thought it was merely a case of germaphobia. 

But, I understood that it wasn’t just the passing of germs and bacteria but the unnecessary touch. I couldn’t process why someone would do that as I would prefer learning and mimicking, so I could do it myself.

Very young, I had to be surrounded by people my age in various classes. Meanwhile, at home, as an only child, I was at the center of adult gatherings. So I learned how young and old interact. Narcissistic tendencies aside, if it wasn’t about me, I couldn’t care less.

The Misconceptions Of Misanthropy

When someone says they are misanthrope, I doubt every single person understands the profound meaning of what they are stating. 

Misanthropy is not just saying, “I hate people,” like it’s written on a mug because you can’t get along with ‘Sharon’ in the office. Misanthropy is not a trend and doesn’t apply to just one person or a group of people. It applies to the entire species as a whole.

The term itself focuses on the hatred of humankind. It evokes the distrust and contempt of human nature. Its primary meaning goes back to Greek, signifying the hatred in humans. Some people see misanthropy as a mental disorder. I don’t. I see it as a logical response to human behavior.

Maybe It’s Because I’m SAD

Knowing I have a social anxiety disorder or SAD in my daily routine doesn’t take a genius. It also has the title of social phobia. Like any other anxiety disorder, it has its side effects: excess blushing, sweating, trembling, palpitations, and nausea. It’s not a fun, pleasant experience.

This particular disorder has a trigger with any social situation, which causes profound distress. It impairs my ability to function in the most specific daily life aspect.

I fear that people around me, close or far, are constantly scrutinizing my every move negatively. I do not care at my core, but at the moment, anxiety makes my thought process irrational, and, therefore, I have no control over the result.

I made life choices according to my SAD and misanthropy. I neither wish to be surrounded by people nor intend to spend more time than the ‘social convention’ required of me with humans. I do not want to be a focal point or centre of attention. I have a little narcissism in me, but I don’t require showing off at every turn. Most situations aren’t worth my time.

It’s What People Do To Me

If I must be at a social gathering, the dread of how I must present myself for approval is exhausting and terrifying. Let me explain. I do not seek approval from ninety-nine percent of the people I know. It’s just so I can be left alone at those social events.

People are merely objects to toy with, and most people do not perceive that when meeting me. Ever since I was a child, I surrounded myself with specific types of ‘friends,’ but let me be clear: those were my toys. I wanted to experiment. I wanted to see how far I could manipulate them into believing anything I would say.

This behaviour slowly went away as I bored myself with experimenting with this aspect. I have a gift for manipulation, but my despise, and fear of humankind prevents me from wanting to exercise it. Thus, in a social gathering, I merely try to display coldness and minimize my interactions so people would find me boring or above them.

However, I never reach my expectations of perfection. I always feel that people find me a weirdo or a freak. Most parents saw me that way, and I understand it. Their children were lab rats. It was a way for me to separate the weak from the strong. The general public would mark this as a sign of psychopathy. I take it as a compliment.

I wanted to reject humans before they rejected me.

The Cognitive Distortions

My obsessive-compulsive disorder has me replay any social gathering for an overly long amount of time. My mind does not forget social groups. As a result, my perception of myself is never what I intended, and it’s unsatisfactory. To punish me, I perform physical pain. I cannot live with the knowledge that I was not good enough. 

OCD and SAD combined together are like a tornado meets a volcano. I hate myself just as much as I feel disgusted for humankind. I cannot deal with embarrassment or shame. I do not understand human behavior. So, it’s as if I cannot mimic the interaction to fool others into thinking I’m one of them. But I don’t want to trick them enough, so they want to remain around me.

Poison Apple

Each social gathering memory replays in my brain for weeks on end. Negativity is what remains clearer in my head. How I present myself, my posture, my vocabulary, my tone of voice, and my look are incredibly important to blend in and remain in the shadows.

Shyness Is My Camouflage

I used to hide my hatred of humankind. I wouldn’t talk much at social gatherings. Everyone assumed I was shy because that’s the consensus. Everyone wants a social life, so you’re shy if you are not open to people right off the gate. So it was the perfect camouflage for me. 

The fact is, I had no interest in the people surrounding me, and they weren’t worth my time or saliva. So I remained closed and hoped to go under the radar. I would try to control the knot in my stomach, the bile piling up in my windpipe, and the palpitation triggering my cardiophobia.

No one understands SAD, OCD and misanthropy unless they live it. The constant dread and pain one feels when in social events might as well have me burning alive. When children pile on to the social gathering, it worsens the effects. People like me do not do well around children. They are pocket-sized humans with high-pitched voices and are sticky. It just puts all the anxiety on steroids.

Coming out and saying, “I have a profound hatred for humankind and children makes it worse” isn’t socially acceptable, so let’s go with, “I’m shy.”

I Would Kill To Save One Puppy

OCD, SAD, CBDPTSD, and possible SPD are a part of who I am. I cannot turn them off, nor do I wish to, because I do not trust humans with my brain. I am more of a scientific mind than I am a spiritual one. I do not believe in a higher purpose or that each of us has a reason to be here. We are the result of our parents fooling around. Period.

For that reason, I guess I do have a lack of empathy toward most humans. I can watch a movie with humans torturing one another, and to me, it’s normality. Humans conquer. That’s what humankind does. Is it fair to the person tortured? No. Do I care? No. 

Apathy Is What I Feel

I saw actual footage of warfare, children, and old people in a catatonic state, and it would shake most people. So I watch and do feel awful. This is happening as I’m standing in front of the monitor screen, but that’s human behavior, and that’s why I hate humankind.

However, if I watch one animal get hurt—it could be in a movie, and the animal is CGI—I lose control of myself and shout at the top of my lungs. I would kill on-the-spot anyone hurting an animal, from a rat to a dinosaur. I do not care about your reason or the importance you give yourself as a good person.

Some people find me heartless because I lack empathy for humans, but I’d kill for animals. That’s because animals are animals. They do what their brain allows them to do. So what’s a human’s excuse after millennia of evolution? Fight me.

When Schizoid Meets Bereavement

So, Schizoid Personality Disorder can scare at first glance because of the word ‘schizoid’ right in the title. The thing is, schizophrenia is a trunk, and it has hundreds of branches, turning it into a big tall tree.

Long story short, my misanthropy and SAD have me lost in my little world. See, I daydream a lot, and I believe that’s the part of me that allows me to be an artist. Artists are complex little things with lots of mental problems bundled up together into a giant fireball. My reality is better than what is, and unless I must be present, I won’t.

I have no interest in social interactions, which makes me an absent friend to those I have, as little as it is. I’m not the daily type of person, nor do I care for small talk. I have no interest in people. I repeat myself. I have demons, and I want to let them loose. They keep me company, and so does my dog.

Complex Bereavement Disorder

That’s one I wished not to talk about but remains inevitable. It was a turning point in my life and had me fall into an abyss I’m okay to live in from now on. 

When my grandfather passed, and I spent twenty minutes giving him CPR in December seven years ago, a part of me died. He was the only one I wished to impress, hold, love, protect, and be with forever. My grandfather kept me human. He was my sanity. Since I was a child, I said I would die if he died. Here I am.

I became impaired that day. It is hard for me to articulate or write that I suffered from a significant depressive disorder. To this day, even noting that he passed, I deny it. A part of me refuses to ‘compute’ the idea. I have prolonged grief syndrome, and it caused me to have post-traumatic stress disorder.

I longed for my grandfather. I feel alone, and I do, sometimes, wish I would die just to be with him again. That is despite not believing in any form of afterlife. My thoughts are irrational when it comes to him. His leaving interfered with my daily routine, and it left me numb.

I refuse to let people in too deep, even the ones I have come to allow near me, because of the pain they may cause.

To have a diagnosis for complex bereavement disorder mental disorder, the grief must last one extra month following the six months of ‘normal’ grief. So it’s been seven years.

The Tiny Psychopathic Voice In Me

I choose my battles online on social media. I choose them carefully so my reasoning and deduction thinking can shine. Does that make me a narcissist? Maybe. I check the box of empathy toward humankind a hundred times over. 

Other psychopathy boxes are subjects I check as far as boxes goes. I avoid eye contact. I despise those because it’s a social interaction created by society. No one has my permission to look in my eyes unless I want them to. It makes me uncomfortable, and a knot tightens in my stomach, and anger boils my blood. I hate it. An animal may look me in the eyes, but no human is allowed.

Some believe I suffer from asociality, which’s a mental disorder that has an association with introverts. It can be a clinical condition, but in my case, asociality isn’t my disorder. I am a misanthrope and know this to be true for me.

That’s me. If you can’t stand the thought of who I am, then I believe this is goodbye, isn’t it? But before you leave, read my statement below. It can put a vivid image of who I am in context. Also, to those who I talk to, just know that I chose you carefully before allowing you to be important to me. You are not a test or a toy. I chose you to be a friend, as little as I can understand the meaning of what it is.

My Puppies

I’m John Wick, and every single animal on this planet is my puppy. Ninety-nine percent of humans on Earth hurt one of my puppies. That’s my view of humankind. Do you understand my reasoning now?

PS: I never watched John Wick, nor do I wish to because I know what happens to the puppy. That’s enough to have me become The Joker.


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