There’s no way anyone can live in suburbia without developing some kind of interest in next door neighbors. You wake up in the morning to a dead silent street where most of the neighbors have good jobs, spouses, kids. Their lives seem to be fulfilled, and their happiness kills me a little bit inside. But I have lived, and I have seen things, and I know better than anyone that most of those people, if not all, lead deceitful lives. We see the pretty facade and we’re tricked by it. Because what happens behind closed doors is sometimes unimaginable.
When I meet people, I try to analyze them; I observe their body language, the way they dress, the way they talk. If they’re captivating enough I let myself dive into my imagination and envision their past and background. Once I do that, I keep track of their behavior and personality to see whether they’re honest and consistent or if they’re just putting on an act every time they’re in public or around friends. But as far as I’m concerned, everyone on this earth has sociopathic traits.
People use the word sociopath to describe serial killers. But most of them lead ordinary lives. I’ve encountered and befriended people who lied, backstabbed, used and manipulated others for their own gain. People who couldn’t care less about others. That’s why I do the same almost all the time. I’ve tried and tried to be the good son, the good friend, the good lover, the good citizen, but when I do, things tend to backfire. That’s why I don’t bother risking my well-being as well as my integrity for the ones who don’t deserve an inch of empathy. I don’t have a natural affinity for people. I treat them the way they deserve to be treated. That’s why I am the way I am. Because of them.