It’s been 2 years since my son died and I still cry every day at least 10 times. I will never be better.
I’m sure this feeling will never leave me. It’s constant fear and sadness that lives in my chest. It’s like I’m both going up to the top of the rollercoaster and seeing my son’s body for the first time. I actually don’t remember the first time I saw his body. I had a full body shock and collapsed and got a concussion on a corner of a table. Not a good week.

I didn’t have anyone to cry with. His dad left when he was only 3 months old. My mother was there, but emotions haven’t computed with her right since her stroke. She was a shoulder, but there wasn’t a lot of heat coming from it, if that makes sense.

His death was meaningless and empty. I cry so much. I’m crying now. Little sobs. It’s gotten easier to see through tears. I’m a barista now. What a joke. A 29 year old barista. He was only 5. He liked marvel and the Flash, but none of the other DC superhero’s. He’d always say that he was a marvel hero, and he’d draw him with Spider-Man and would jump with happiness when I’d look at his pictures. And at night when he’d finally want to go to bed he could never fall asleep if I wasn’t in the room, preferably in bed next to him. He’d throw fits in toy stores if I didn’t look at what he wanted. He’d apologize in the car and draw me a picture when we’d get home. He would run around the yard for hours, just in laps.

I didn’t go to his funeral or anything. I was in bed. People visited me. They said stuff. It didn’t matter. Like really it didn’t. They didn’t know what it felt like. It was crushing. It still is crushing. It’s like a whole planet on top of me.

I’m so full of sadness and hate and anxiety and fear. I’m very aware of my emotions, my therapist says that’s good. But it doesn’t make anything easier.

This was good to type out though. I’m not crying right now, not anymore. I don’t have work tomorrow. I cleaned my room tonight while crying. My mom brought me some cookies and tea. That’s how she shows her love. No words, just warm food. I have those dumb strip lights. My rooms purple right now. I just want to hold him again. I’ll never ever ever hold him again. I miss him so much. I would take anything. I’d take the week he and I were terribly sick and he threw up all over me and I had to clean up while sore and sweating and holding back vomit. I’d take that, just a minute of that. Of pain and illness. Just to see him again. I never got to say goodbye. I wasn’t e en the one who took him to the bus stop that day. My mom did. I don’t remember if I even said good night to him the night before. Everything’s on fire around me. I don’t know how to put it out.

I’m a psychopath and manage it well.
Before you judge, in which I’m guessing it’ll happen lol google psychopath. Because people often confuse psychopath and sociopath. They are not the same.

I’ve never told anyone this, not family not friends.

Backstory… I didn’t grow up conventional. Like really unconventional. Though nobody has a normal life…mine was different. When i tell people and they meet my family. Their eyes widen and i can see in their expression that they don’t know how to feel. Generally most people accept it. The ones that don’t, well grew up normal lol.

I was a pretty chill and calm kid. I didn’t grow up in violence. But it was pretty normalized within my family. In the sense i was taught to stand up for myself. I took that pretty literally as a kid. If you have to fight, do what you have to do to win. If that meant taking a pipe to their legs, well you gotta do it. But i was told never to start fights.

I was tormented by the other kids and I learned a lot from it. I was also taught the world is a cruel place. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I was very perceptive and acknowledged this as a reality.

I noticed i was different when I was about 7 years old. I didn’t really like to talk a lot. I didn’t really realize until i was older that i didn’t have a tolerance for others. Like family would talk to me and I remember thinking to my self will they shut up, i don’t care. Aunts, uncles, cousins, etcetera…they would call me shy because i didn’t talk. I just didn’t have patience for their crap. I would just play along , nod, fake laugh, so on.

I didn’t feel for friends really. I was always the odd duck. Even within my family i was odd. I don’t even recall how i made friends. It didn’t make sense to me but i oddly fit in the popular crowds. I didn’t help i was an attractive kid. I really hated all of the attention, it would drive me insane. I would just conform because i saw thats what other kids wanted. So i would copy my friends to fit in the best i could. Honestly didn’t really care for them or anyone.

It was hard for me to care about my family and friends as the years went on. To the point that i just didn’t care if i didn’t keep in contact. Generally speaking, they all contact me. Otherwise i wouldn’t bother.

I noticed i could use my lack of emotion to my advantage. I picked up on this in maybe 8th or 9th grade. I would manipulate others for my gain. I was really good at it. They still have no idea the things i would do for my benefit. Yet i could easily hide i was lying to them. I would recreate emotions through many hours of practice. I would watch others. Whether it was anger, crying, happiness, sadness etcetera.. i would mimic their behavior.

I would keep my violent thoughts in my head because i acknowledged there are consequences. I would have these thoughts and I would never act out on them.

When i hit maybe my young adulthood, i really noticed i had no regard for others. I could care less about people and their feelings. That i was so intrigued i joined psychology class because i wanted to see if i could figure out what was wrong with me. I learned so much about the human brain. I had textbooks full of knowledge i could use. I would emulate different behaviors. It was amazing to me.

Within all of this time i did have a plethora of relationships with girls. Dated popular girls, hooked up with older women, one of my girlfriend’s moms., i liked the pleasure of intercourse. I did end up getting married. I oddly was able to care about someone. I dunno maybe because she was someone so different than myself. Though i do slip up from time to time for not having emotions for certain things i do my best to make her happy. We have four children together who I’d absolutely die for . It was like a switch flipped when i had them. That i could actually care for something that i developed really real feelings for their mother. That if anyone hurt her, i would put their hand in a blender.

I hide myself pretty well. People just think I’m that quiet guy who keeps to himself. It has it’s pros and cons. I have to remind myself to tell my wife things, give her compliments, act in manners i see as pointless. But i do care and love her.

It’s been quite the life. Just blending in.