Confessions of a Psychopath

Remember the Tamil movie Aparichit? Where the main protagonist would turn into a self-appointed punisher every time he saw people commit unjust deeds that would go otherwise unnoticed by the rest of the society? Or the Jim Carrey movie Me, Myself and Irene? Jim Carrey got so fed up with the asshole society that he became schizophrenic one day and started freaking people out? In both the cases, it was their suppressed emotions that worked as the catalyst in their transformation. The injustice of the society, the lack of humanity that drove them crazy and one day all those buried emotions came back into life in a much uglier form and turned them into violent psychopaths. And what they couldn’t accomplish by being nice, their badass alter egos finished those tasks on behalf of them.

Every day I treat my strays with evening snacks after coming home from office. After a long, shitty day of putting up with a bunch of hypocritical bastards at the office when I come home and hug my dogs, it feels like Mother Earth has still got a ray of hope. Every day I would hug my dogs; my mother would see it and start complaining that I play in the dirt with them. By now both of us know that none would listen and comply with the other. I would keep hugging my dirty dogs and she would keep scolding. This evening I was feeding my dogs just outside my house. Suddenly one of my neighbours appeared out of nowhere and started throwing bricks at them. It took me some moments to comprehend the whole situation and then I felt too shocked to even react. I am an introvert of the highest degree. Over the years I have mastered the art of avoiding eye contact with people so that I don’t have to interact with them. Once I pretended to be asleep the entire journey on the bus just to avoid one or two simple words of courtesy with an old teacher from ISI. Meaningless conversations, arguments, even fake smile tend to drain me out – both mentally and physically. So I just stood there watching the prick running after the dogs with bricks in his hand – feeling tormented between the urge to kick him in his fucking balls and the urge to preserve my energy by not doing anything at all and swallow the whole thing in silence. Then I heard it. The scared scream of one of my youngests. The sound of the violent agony of my poor baby quickly travelled through my brain and hit me at the most dangerous spot – the room where my psychopath alter ego sleeps in. For a fraction of moment I realised that I was going to lose my control over myself. Now everything would happen as per the psycho’s command. Rest of the incident was a blur. When I finally got my composure back I found myself running to and fro in front of my house yelling at the top my voice, cursing the hell out of the bastard. Honestly, my psycho sister wanted to rip his intestines out and cook stew for my dogs. But sadly she had to satisfy herself with accusing him of having sex with his own mother and wishing him an agonising, slow death. None of the other neighbours came to support me. Some of them were watching the ‘circus’ from a safe distance.

Yes I do have a dark side in me that wakes up every time I see something unfair happening around me. I imagine myself murdering my boss with a chainsaw while putting up with his bullshit. I relish the idea of cutting random people’s balls off when I catch them staring at women lewdly. I like going back in time and punish every single person I found to be a prick. I want to beat my sadistic primary school teacher to death who used to hit the students for no reason. No wonder I am a huge pain in the ass to my parents owing to my short-tempered, straightforward nature. Most of my ‘friends’ make fun of me; rest feel scared. All of them are in unison that I’m crazy. My 'noble-hearted' boyfriend left me because my dark side was too much for him to handle, apparently. To him, I was like the chicken carcass on sale whose legs and breasts he was only interested in. I swear the pun was unintended. Unfortunately, in the battle between the psychopath and the introvert, most of the time the latter has the last laugh. The psychopath goes back to sleep with enormous amount of rage and frustration buried inside her. But she is nothing but a part of me. Giving in without a fight is not in her dictionary. So as punishment I lay awake all night – picturing myself in various situations avenging the injustice. If I were the character in a psycho thriller movie, I would be killing the abusive son of a whore now – one limb at a time.

Freud said, “Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.” By now I have learned first-hand how much damage ‘unexpressed emotions’ could do to a person’s mental health. My broken heart and the blinding pain caused by it had left me with an emptiness that is probably never going to fill up again. Sometimes I look into myself and the endless void stares back – if you looked closely you could see its reflection in my eyes. It seems I would never feel life inside me ever again – no racing of heart, no feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Every time I shush my alter ego and command her to compromise and pretend that nothing happened, I end up with a bad headache. I know that the headache is a premonition of something very ugly that is about to happen someday. And I also know that I have no way to escape it.

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