M. Thomas: Confessions of a Sociopath

I was actually glad that there was a word for it, that I wasn’t the only one like this. It must be a similar feeling to that of people who discover for themselves that they are gay or transgendered: in their bones, they’d known it all along.

Years had passed from that tentative self-diagnosis to my period of introspection after being fired. Once the word sociopath had entered my consciousness and my initial satisfaction with finding a label had faded, I had treated it as an unimportant oddity, like an interesting but irrelevant quirk, until eventually I forgot it. But as my life crumbled around me, I knew that I couldn’t keep living like I had been before, acknowledging that I was different but ignoring the differences. I was so desperate for answers that I had begun seeing a therapist, but she was nothing more than a thing for me to toy with, and even then, she was too expensive for the limited satisfaction our sessions gave me. But through those therapy sessions, I had remembered that summer internship and that casual diagnosis of “sociopath.” I sensed there were answers about myself there, so I started reading a book that just happened to be available in its entirety online, written by the father of the modern concept of psychopathy, Dr. Hervey Cleckley.

Cleckley, in his groundbreaking book The Mask of Sanity , first published in 1941, presented the profile of the personality he called the psychopath, but which we now commonly refer to as the sociopath. Cleckley explained that a psychopath was extremely difficult to diagnose, because his mental faculties were fully intact, as was his ability to function in society as a seemingly normal human being, even a particularly successful one. Cleckley wrote:

Not only is the psychopath rational and his thinking free of delusions, but he also appears to react with normal emotions. His ambitions are discussed with what appears to be healthy enthusiasm. His convictions impress even the skeptical observer as firm and binding. He seems to respond with adequate feelings to another’s interest in him and, as he discusses his wife, his children, or his parents, he is likely to be judged a man of warm human responses, capable of full devotion and loyalty .

According to Cleckley, psychopaths are antisocials who excel at seeming social—seeming to feel, desire, hope, and love like everyone else. They exist virtually indistinguishable among society. In fact, the psychopath excels in many ways that others do not. Cleckley’s psychopath is uncommonly charming and witty. He is unflappable and eloquent, keeping his cool under pressure. Under this “mask of sanity,” however, is a liar, a manipulator, a person who disregards his obligations with little to no sense of responsibility. He is exciting because he is impulsive, whimsical, and prone to making the same mistake multiple times. His narcissism keeps him from forming any real emotional bonds, and he tends to be promiscuous. His own emotional world is mostly a poor imitation of natural emotions. Cleckley acknowledged that this unique suite of personality traits could suit the psychopath equally well to a career in business as to one in crime.

Nowhere else have I recognized the sociopath inside me more than in Cleckley’s clinical profiles, more than half a century old. From his observations of hundreds of patients, Cleckley distilled what he believed to be sixteen key behavioral characteristics that defined psychopathy. Most of these factors are still used today to diagnose sociopaths/psychopaths and others with antisocial disorders. They include the following:

• Superficial charm and good intelligence

• Absence of delusions and other signs of irrational thinking

• Absence of nervousness or psychoneurotic manifestations

• Unreliability

• Untruthfulness and insincerity

• Lack of remorse and shame

• Inadequately motivated antisocial behavior

• Poor judgment and failure to learn by experience

• Pathologic egocentricity and incapacity for love

• General poverty in major affective reactions

• Specific loss of insight

• Unresponsiveness in general interpersonal relations

• Fantastic and uninviting behavior with drink and sometimes without

• Suicide threats rarely carried out

• Sex life impersonal, trivial, and poorly integrated

• Failure to follow any life plan

If you’ve ever recognized yourself in a horoscope and thought, “Hey, maybe there is something to this astrology business,” then you understand my encounter with Cleckley’s book. Not everything is quite right, but many things are spot-on, and in general, it’s frighteningly accurate. My lack of life direction, my cold treatment of friends, my inability to focus on my job—the psychological pattern underpinning many of my problems was laid bare. I was particularly amazed by his descriptions of his patients, some of whom I shared so much in common with that I felt he could have been writing about me. There was one woman in particular, Anna, whose description seemed like a fictionalized version of myself:

There was nothing spectacular about her, but when she came into the office you felt that she merited the attention she at once obtained. She was, you could say without straining a point, rather good-looking, but she was not nearly so good-looking as most women would have to be to make a comparable impression. She spoke in the crisp, fluttery cadence of the British, consistently sounding her “r’s” and “ing’s” and regularly saying “been” as they do in London. For a girl born and raised in Georgia, such speaking could suggest affectation. Yet it was the very opposite of this quality that contributed a great deal to the pleasing effect she invariably produced on those who met her. Naive has so many inapplicable connotations it is hardly the word to use in reference to this urbane and gracious presence, yet it is difficult to think of our first meeting without that very word coming to mind, with its overtones of freshness, artlessness, and candor.

It’s clear that Cleckley was taken by her. I love the way he describes her idiosyncrasies: the accent, her artlessness, her eternal youthfulness, her attractiveness that seems to be something more than mere beauty, her intelligence, and her charm. These describe me as well. She loves The Brothers Karamazov , but Cleckley later discusses how Anna does not have the highbrow tastes and prejudices that accompany the typical “intellectual” of her education and breeding, treating gossip magazines with the same interest as the music of Russian composers. Again, he could have been writing about me. Cleckley goes on to tell about how Anna quite sincerely taught Sunday school, volunteered for the Red Cross, and engaged in haphazard same-sex liaisons, one time with a nurse after being universally adored during a hospital stay. There were incredible parallels to my own life, from such seemingly insignificant ones like teaching Sunday school or being a model hospital patient to relatively more prominent ones like fluid sexuality. I was floored.

Cleckley does clearly lay out why he believes that Anna fits his criteria, primarily because of her lack of remorse about her lascivious lifestyle, but it’s clear that she is not just a sum of points on a checklist to him. She is a person. And it wasn’t the checklist that I identified so strongly with upon reading Cleckley’s book; it was the people. Even Cleckley acknowledged that the checklist was just a gross generalization of why these people seemed so similar to each other—despite their vast differences in education, background, socioeconomic status, criminal history, etc.—and yet so different from the rest of the world. I could quibble with whether or not I met a criterion like “unreliability,” but I could not deny the remarkable similarities that I shared with Cleckley’s patients.