The truth for me as a human being is that I feel I barely qualify as human. Do I lie, cheat, steal, or harm others? No. Not at all. I simply exist apart from them. This is not entirely of my own choosing. But I do not experience warmth. I cannot emotionally connect with anyone except over shared misery. I am not a harmful person, but nor am I helpful. I view people lauding their moral positions publicly as mere attention seeking or self-gratification. I can only assume people get some kind of natural high over claiming the moral high ground.
I don’t experience happiness much. When I do it is fleeting and very easily destroyed. I may attempt to show affection to a girlfriend, but if it is met with anything but happiness I back off. I don’t make a big deal out of it. I don’t claim “you aren’t even interested in me!”, I simply acknowledge that at that all relationships are lies, chalk it up to her not getting that endorphiny feeling anymore, and move on. I may feel frustrated that I am wasting my time.
The thing is, nothing matters. I’ve been treated for “depression” and earnestly followed my therapies and medications. I have no problems with compliance. I’ll take whatever a doctor gives me. I have only discontinued one medication due to side effects on my own accord. Nothing changes my mood. No therapy gives me a different worldview.
I may share genetic lineage with homo sapiens, but I am no person. I am simply an amoral, unmotivated, festering set of replicating genes. I have a net effect of nothing on the world.
“There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there.”
