I get reminded at every turn of my lack of affective empathy by neurotypicals that think that either they have the “high ground” or have a richer experience in life as a result of the affective empathy that they possess.  I’ve said many times that I feel my experiences are like that of the born blind.  You can describe what I’m missing all that you want, but that will never make it viable for me.  However, just because I have a void where others have matter, that does not mean that I pine for what I am missing.  I would rather live in a state of logic and full control than a state of automatic irrationality and emotional turbulence.  I will never feel via reciprocity that pain that others feel, but I do not waste my energy wishing that I could feel that automatic joy of being around the elated either.

I see only advantage regarding my lack of empathy.  Too many times have I seen others completely lose control when encountered with the unpleasant.  Their automatic, and visceral, reaction paralyzes them to the point that they are warbling, chaotic messes.  Even in less extreme states, the empathic are wasting energy that could be used for other means.  I am my focus.  I cannot fathom being my own enemy when it comes to my focus, my desires, and my goals.  Why on earth would I want to have a day ruined because of an emotional response over something that does not affect me in the least but would remain with me for a spell?  Why would I want to take an emotional painkiller if I have no need?

I understand that I am missing out on the happiness that those have when surrounded by other happiness.  I don’t need such, however.  I make my own happiness.  Rather than being dependent on feeding on the joy of others, I can plow forward with my own plans to achieve joy.  I am responsible for myself and myself alone and that is a wonderful feeling in and of itself.  I feel that such automatic and false happiness is not needed as it is merely a façade of the real thing.  I’d rather be focused on my own success than on such belonging to others.  The alternative is a drug of dependency and a crutch.

When I am reminded of what I am “missing” by empaths, I am quick to scowl.  I am not missing anything that I feel should be missed.  I live in a perpetual state of cold and ruthless logic and that allows me to focus on what is important: my own hopes and dreams.  Crying over the shattered lives of others does me no good.  Celebrating success that is not my own “creates” joy that cannot last.  Such is the nature of affective empathy in my eyes: it is a parasite of potential self-made satisfaction and reflection.

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