You think you know me, man. We’ve had some great times, you know? Laughing and playing, flirting and dancing. Yeah man, you think you know me. You think you’ve touched me, you know? You think that you left an impression on me just as I’ve left one on you. Yeah, you think you know me. You don’t know anything. But don’t worry, you’ll come crawling back after I am done.
People are often blindsided when a psychopath drops the mask – our word for the false selves that we present. It is not uncommon for us to appear to be saints and incredibly invested in those we meet. I’ve played the siren before. I know what it is like to woo someone (platonically or romantically) and drop the mask as soon as I know that they’ve nowhere to run. More often than not, what lurks behind the psychopath’s mask is damage and despair, waiting to be inflicted on those around her.
The psychopath can crave destruction just for something to prove stimulating. Often this takes the form of culling the driftwood that no longer has purpose. Other times, there may be no provocation at all. We want to feel the rush just one more time, brighter than ever before. And, we don’t care whose pound of flesh we take to ensure that this happens.
The truth is we are always presenting something that we are not. When you have little identity to begin with, the cadavers picked up along the way serve as perfect personalities to emulate. Combine that with our charm and our acquaintances will never know what hit them. They will often think that they must have done something wrong and that we must have just been in a bad mood. They will think that the false selves we presented are our true selves and that what lies behind the mask is an anomaly, not truth.
You think you know me, man. You think that you know how I tick and how I will chime. But, you don’t. There is nothing to worship behind the sockets of our eyes. You think you know me? How can you when I don’t even know myself?