I know I’m not a sociopath, but I’ve always known that my box of paints has significantly less colors than everyone else’s.
That said, here’s a quote that hits hard, from the end of The Cut’s “Cringing at the Martin Shkreli Love Story” (also titled “All The Time I Wasted Trying to Please Indifferent Men”
“I’m still that needy, anxious kid going over the “Haha,” hoping it means something — except now it’s all the more sad because I know it doesn’t mean anything.”
I thought about it. Yes, I know how that feels. And then I decided: that’s going to be me. Not the needy, anxious kid — but the indifferent object of affection.
Nobody notices or cares that much about others, anyway. It makes no difference whether or not I care about others. It’s just that I’m going to consciously stop caring about anyone except me, me, me.