Guest post: Morality

When I was five, there was a kid in a cafe where my Father would take me who would steal the toys from other kids. Apparently I would watch him steal the toys from other kids. When he decided to steal mine, I spat in his face, at which point he started crying and went to his mom. When questioned, I asked her why I would spit in his face. My Father highly approved, although did not tell me that he approved or had noticed for a number of years.

Around that time, I got the nickname Ender from my Mother's tech friends, due to my obsession with winning games. I figured out how to beat Civilization II without the ability to read, just playing it over and over and figuring out what the pictures meant.

When I got into third grade, my Mother started moving frequently, mostly for financial reasons. I have moved more than fifteen times in my life, but this is primarily of importance because the next several stories involve bullies who figured they'd pick on the new kid with glasses who read books. My general policy was to hurt them just enough they'd refrain from hurting me in the future.

There are only two cases which I find particularly of note. One was in fourth grade, where three kids tried to pick on me after school. I got one face down on the ground before the others could react, and threatened to hurt him if the others didn't back off. One backed off, but the other decided to call my bluff. I had to break the first kid's arm in order to make the courageous one stop hitting me, which I remember thinking as unfair, since he had given up as soon as I had him on the ground. The broken arm was blamed on him falling down some stone steps at the school, and I helped him get to the teachers. I do not tend to hold grudges.

The second was in seventh grade. A large pack of boys had gathered on the blacktop after school, having decided that if I'd fight two or three of them, I wouldn't fight back against five. They cornered me next to the school one day, and told me they meant to hurt me. I told them to hold on a second, dropped my books, and turned to the nearby brick wall. I then proceeded to bash my head against it until I could tell I was bleeding, turned around, and told them I was ready to fight. The guys began muttering about how they weren't going to fight some crazy bastard, and went away. It was the best way I could think of at the time to intimidate them into not fighting me, because I knew they'd win.

Until I was fifteen, I wasn't sure if I was gay, straight, or what. I simply did not feel attraction toward other people. It wasn't until I found a group who I found intellectually interesting that I became at all sexually active. It just wasn't important enough for me to bother before then. I tend to have one girlfriend at a time, with several girls I am involved with consistently, and then a number of random flings. The girlfriend is one of the major points where I find I deviate from the normal idea of a sociopath. My girlfriend is of genuine importance to me, and their well-being strongly effects my mood.

I do not tend to feel empathy toward most people, but my girlfriend is always part of a population which I call "My People". This has never been more than four people, and is generally at least two. They tend to define my self, with their opinions and advice shaping who I make myself to be.

I have a very strong personal code, which I have gained in large part from my Father, who also seems to function in a similar pattern as I do. I am not really able to articulate what this code is, other than that it requires I not harm others simply for pleasure, and that those close to me are particularly off limits.

Two years ago, around the time I turned sixteen, I started to realize that there is something different in how my brain works than the rest of the population. Sociopathy seems to be the closest thing to a proper diagnosis, but there are several things that simply due not fit with the traditional model. I am curious as to what you think about my particular makeup.