Growing up a sociopath

From a young age I knew I was different from the other children. While they would play I would be off to the side thinking to myself "What am I doing here?"

For some odd reason I couldn't find any joy in what the other kids would. When they would scream and laugh as they were chased by their friends during a "rousing" game of tag. I would see no point in it.

Why play something that you have no interest in?

I felt, off, different, out of place. Like I had missed something important in the development of my child mind. Perhaps I was dumb and didn't understand how someone would find running around a playground until you were inevitably caught by the other children, fun.

Aside from that I knew I was sharper than the other kids around me. When they would struggle with their multiplication tables I would already be at the teachers desk asking for more work.

I started to notice these things in the third grade. When I was coming into my own as a person and not what parents want their kids to be.

I had gained a full sense of self at the age of eight. What took most children at least until ten years of growth I achieved in eight and at an even greater scale than what they would eventually obtain. Granted it's not like it was any fault of their own or like it was a product of me studying day in and day out. No, no, no, that would be too simple.

It was much more complex than that. My brain functioned on a different wavelength. My brain would get me to the solution much quicker than what any one else's would. To compare it to something take a freeway for example. Picture the speed limit allowing you to reach your destination hours in advance as opposed to going through multiple major cities. It's faster, more efficient, but it's boring.

Sure, it was fun at first, besting my classmates in the learning activities that we went through. Getting praise from the teacher and my parents. It was great... For a time.

After a while my classmates began to learn what was going on. No matter how hard they tried they were unable to come close to how smart I was becoming. So, in turn, they became jealous. And with that jealousy came anger, resentment.

It didn't take long for the other children to start making fun of me. They would call me names, leave me out at recess, push and shove me in the bathroom.

Children can be so cruel...

The teacher only made it worse. The more she scolded them for how they were treating me, the more awfully they treated me right after.

But as I said, the more years that passed the more dull the previously fun activities became. I felt numb to it all, so I stopped trying so hard. And when I did, things got better. I was accepted again, the children welcomed me with open arms now that their jealousy was sated.

And for a time, I was happy again. But, that could only last for so long.

Just like how I lost interest in what I was excelling at before, these newfound friends and games also became dull. Once again, granted, it kept me occupied throughout intermediate school.

Towards the tail end of intermediate school I noticed how boring everything was. I was scared, I didn't want this gray existence to be mine. I cursed myself for being born the way I was.

Why couldn't I have fun like everyone else? Why was I unable to feel anything but empty?

Why couldn't I have been born Normal?

However, this feeling only lasted so long. During a school pep rally I was sitting by myself, as per usual. I noticed that someone had been making their way up to the bleachers to me.

It was a behemoth of a boy, followed by what I could only assume were his friends. I remember sighing to myself, this was a daily thing. Different types of bullies would verbally or physically attack me for reasons they couldn't comprehend.

To them they just felt like it, however, it was because I was different. It's easy to go after those who are weaker than you, and it's made even easier if your numbers are greater than theirs.

I don't know why I even tried to talk my way out of it. I guess I was afraid to get hurt. Even in my state at the time, the natural human reaction to pain was the same, avoid it at all costs.

Little did I know I would find purpose that day. When the bully had made it up to me he threw around the usual insults. His colleagues cheered him on from a few feet away and echoed his insults at me.

I guess I had enough at that point. I recognized the bully. He was the one who I had seen smoking outside of the school one day. Suddenly it made sense why he had confronted me.

I remember a grand smile forming on my face. One that took the bully aback.

I berated him, telling him how easy it would be to just go to the school officials and tell him what he's been doing.

He had flinched at the thought but continued to yell at me. Still, more and more information that I had heard throughout the school year about this guy came to the forefront of my mind.

His father beat him when he got drunk, and would be even harsher if he was called up to the school for something that this kid had done.

It all made sense, the bullying, the smoking. It was all an outlet, and I could use that. I needed to use that...

I wanted to use that.

I brought this up to him and the bully was visibly shaken by what I had said. Never before had I seen such fear in someone's eyes... I liked it.

I then promised the boy that I wouldn't tell anyone as long as he left me alone. Much to the surprise of his cronies he did as I asked.

He left, never to bother me again.

I was ten at the time, and my lust for this catharsis would only grow as the years went on.