Why
"I can read every word of your soul, become deeply engrossed in the study of it until I've comprehended every nuance and detail. But then when I'm done, I'll discard it as easily as if it were a newspaper, shaking my head at how the ink has stained my fingers gray. My desire to know every layer of you isn't feigned, but interest isn't love, and I make no promises of forever. Perhaps I do every so often, but you have no business believing me."
“people are attracted to the sociopath’s exceptionalism like moths to a flame.â€
https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/21583841-confessions-of-a-sociopath
http://www.sociopathworld.com
M.E. Thomas is so full of herself. All she is concerned with is bolstering herself up. While I can relate to things she says at times, she usually quickly taints it with bull shit. She never once mentions how fucking miserable it is to be a sociopath. Tormented by a fucked up past. Searching inside yourself for things you see in others but don't have inside you. Uncontrollable anger. Disenchantment. Boredom. You're unable to remain attached to individuals and float through multiple persona's, wasting decades of your life going no where. You see others enjoying life in a way you do not.
She paints the picture that sociopaths are unaffected by struggle and thus can find success with ease. But it's not true. Sociopaths are inept and are just doing their best to pretend otherwise. Any success I have found has only come from an itching discontentment... You spend your life escaping your own nothingness and chasing the facade that you are more than what you are.
Maybe her head is so far up her own ass she's been fortunate enough to be oblivious to the truth of the matter.
"If my life were a television show it would start like this: It’s a pleasantly warm summer day in a beautiful southern clime. Sunlight glints of ripples in the pool. The sliding door opens with a gentle rumble. A young woman steps out in her flip-flops and a black Speedo swimming suit. Her dark hair hits just below muscular swimmer’s shoulders. Her skin is darkly tan from lifeguarding at the local municipal pool. She is neither pretty nor ugly, of medium build and with no prominent features. She looks like an athlete; there’s a clumsy tomboyishness about the way she moves, an emotional disconnect with her body. She does not appear to have any feelings about her body, good or bad. She is used to being near-naked, the way athletes are.
Today she is giving a private swim lesson. She flings a towel on a deck chair and kicks off her sandals. There’s a casual recklessness about the way she does these things, as if letting loose wayward objects into the world with abandon. That’s when she notices the ripples on the surface of the water. She sees that there is something moving in the pool.
It is so small that she doesn’t recognize it until she’s close—a baby opossum, probably only a week old, its tiny pink paws frantically paddling, its even tinier pink nose struggling above the surface of the water. The poor thing must have fallen into the pool in the night. It is too little to thrust its tiny body up and over the nearest ledge. The baby’s muscles quake with exhaustion. Even its tiny sparkling eyes look tired; it is on the brink of succumbing to fatigue.
The young woman moves quickly, sliding her sandals back on, and pauses for a moment at the top of the deck. She grabs a net and heads toward the opossum. The camera cuts in as the net lowers, dipping into the surface of the water, catching the baby opossum under the belly just in front of its hind legs. With a quick, almost efeffortless movement, the net drags the opossum under the surface until its head is fully submerged. The animal thrashes, its tired body now alert to a new threat. It struggles loudly, whimpering and squealing, until it finally manages to free its hindquarters from the lip of the net. But it’s barely able to gasp a breath before the net comes down again. The angle of the net is awkward though, and the animal is able to writhe out of its trap.
The young woman sighs, and the net is lifted. The baby opossum feels relief wash over it for a fraction of a second, only to resume its desperate paddling against the water. The young woman drops the net on the ground, grabs her towel, and heads back inside. Moments later she is on the phone with her private student—today’s lesson is canceled; there is something wrong with the pool. She grabs her keys, flings her front door open, and skips down the stairs to the muscle car that she’s been driving since her sixteenth birthday. The V-8 engine stutters for just a moment, then roars to life. She slams the transmission into reverse, just barely dodging the other cars in the driveway, then takes off, ready to make the most of a newly free summer afternoon.
When she returns home at dusk she sees a dark shadow at the bottom of the pool. She grabs the same net, manages to scoop up the small bundle on the first try, and pitches it over the fence into her neighbor’s yard. She drops an extra chlorine tablet into the pool and heads inside. The camera lingers on the placid pool, no longer interrupted by frantic waves. Fade to black."
It's some deep shit.
It's so bad it's good. The laughs are endless, and keep going when you find people who took it entirely too seriously.
It's how bad she looked on Dr. Phil without someone forcibly cutting her off. Her story about herself is super narcy and boastful with a fair deal of poorly executed embelishment.
M.E. is just a more articulate T.K.
Which is exactly what I always bemoaned in the latter.
Also, Thomas' most recent interview (some-forgotten-one posted on here, with my sincere thanks), in which she described having stolen "more than 20 bikes", makes this all the more relevant and wonderful.
blanc stated: source post
She paints the picture that sociopaths are unaffected by struggle and thus can find success with ease. But it's not true. Sociopaths are inept and are just doing their best to pretend otherwise. Any success I have found has only come from an itching discontentment...
sociopathy is a spectrum. not everyone is affected the same by it. success is built or constructed by you and you alone. find what you are good at and focus on that.
you must be good at something? find that good thing and force success. build on that success for another success incrementally.
hopefully your self worth and self esteem will grow with each win. this worked for me.
M.E. Thomas is a sociopath lawyer that wrote a book and is probably making a lot of money off it.
hdiver stated: source post
blanc stated: source post
She paints the picture that sociopaths are unaffected by struggle and thus can find success with ease. But it's not true. Sociopaths are inept and are just doing their best to pretend otherwise. Any success I have found has only come from an itching discontentment...
sociopathy is a spectrum. not everyone is affected the same by it. success is built or constructed by you and you alone. find what you are good at and focus on that.
you must be good at something? find that good thing and force success. build on that success for another success incrementally.
hopefully your self worth and self esteem will grow with each win. this worked for me.
M.E. Thomas is a sociopath lawyer that wrote a book and is probably making a lot of money off it.
You're completely missing the point. I think I'm done with replying to this thread. :)