Some people go about the world without remorse or conscience. Sociopaths are incapable of empathy or guilt. I wonder, are they born that way?
Somehow I think they are born that way. They come into the world perhaps, with something indefinably missing.
I think they walk among us, looking no different than anyone else. But inside their hearts are not malleable.
Their countenance is intractable. They simply do not have the capacity to feel, to love anyone but themselves.
Who Might They Be?
Research suggests that as much as 50% of sociopathy is inherited.
The person standing behind you in the grocery store, at the Starbucks counter, may be a sociopath.
Have you ever known a child that seemed completely unable to feel for others? And then as they become more emancipated into the world, they wreak havoc on others.
Their rules are completely different. In fact there are no rules. Like a tornado, they sweep through people’s lives, ravaging everything in their path.
There is a book called “The Sociopath Next Door.” I have the book but have not yet read it.
I have looked into the eyes of a sociopath. They seemed simply empty. And soul-less.
Raining This Morning:
I walked outside this morning onto the patio and it was still raining. A fine mist you couldn’t see. It is cooler, but it felt good. Like the rain was kissing my cheeks.
There is a mourning dove out there now. When you open the patio door and it is startled, you can hear the thwap-thwap of its big wings slowly flap until it’s airborne.
The are such pretty birds, I think. Bobbing as they walk and somewhat ungainly in appearance and bearing. They’ve always been one of my favorites. And I feel so privileged to have one come visit me.
Settling In To Read:
I’ve been reading a lot at night. The dogs settle in around me, and I read for hours, lost in the plot of a novel.
My current read has had me thinking about the power of our minds. How sometimes it puts us in a cell of our own making.
No matter that the door is wide open, sometimes we stand just there. Unable to take a step toward the door.
Our feet seem glued to the floor. Because in our imaginations, that door will always be closed and locked.