- Condition One: Attack is present, or imminent. The CIC is locked down and the ship's commander is on station.
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May 13, 2009
“Psychopathy is a psychological construct that describes chronic immoral and antisocial behavior. The psychopath is defined by a psychological gratification in criminal, sexual, or aggressive impulses and the inability to learn from past mistakes. Individuals with this disorder gain satisfaction through their antisocial behavior and lack remorse for their actions.” (From Wikipedia.org) Now, recently I’ve been called a psychopath by Emma Mendoza and friends, a person from my past that written about before (frequently). I think she should consult a psychiatrist for an accurate description. If I truly were a psychopath, she would be dead by now, buried in a pit in my backyard, with her skull adorning my wall. I’d be wearing her skin as a leisure suit. I would have tortured her so much; you would have thought that it was a career. Now, I’ll admit that I have a problem from learning from my past mistakes, but that is my problem and my problem alone. I’ll also admit that I have been aggressive in the past, but that is only part of my nature. I am aggressive when it comes to a lot of things in life. However, if I were truly a psychopath, believe me when I say that I’d have a fucking shrine in my room with Emma’s pictures all over the place and I’d stake out her house every night. I’d probably even break in. I don’t lack regret for my actions. Just ask her. I told Emma that I regretted everything I did. But, in the words of Thomas Crown, regret is a waste of time, as is gloating. I’ve heard on the street that she is afraid that I might harm myself or HER. Are you that INSANE? This is just testament to the fact that she never really knew me. That she was just another in a long line of my self-delusions. I love myself too much to harm myself. I don’t care enough to harm her, much less other people. Also, why the fuck should Emma care if I slash my wrists or give a Berretta a blowjob or not? Answer: because even though she doesn’t care about me relationship wise, she cares about me due to the fact that I’m a human being. Well. No shit. What are you? A nun or something? I was told to move on. I have moved on in a manner of speaking. What I do concerns me and nobody else. I told her that I was going to initiate a communications blackout, and I did. So why the fuck am I still hearing about it 2 months later? Now. I reiterate. Emma, evidently you do not know me. You know OF me. If you really knew me this wouldn’t be happening. If you really knew me, you’d know what I’m capable of. If you want to talk to me, fine. Fucking pick up the phone and call me. If not, SHUT THE FUCK UP. Also, to clarify a couple of comments, I may not “love life”, but I’m content as far as satisfaction goes. I have a good, well paying job, I have interests, I have passions and I have friends. Just because I’m lonely or “obsessed with you” does not give you the right to say one goddamn thing about me or my life. FUCK YOU. You lost your vote when you hanged up the phone. “Fixation (psychology), the state in which an individual becomes obsessed with an attachment to another human, an animal, or an inanimate object.” (From Wikipedia.org) I’ll admit that I had a FIXATION. How couldn’t I? The sex was AWESOME (There. I said it) and, other than the sex, she was OK to have around. What happened was that I got bored and scared. I get bored and scared very easily. Now, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: It was my fault and my fault alone. What do you want? A medal? A pat on the back? The truth of the matter is that I fell in love. Or at least I think I did. That’s why I got scared. So. Look at you. You brought the Spy Who Came in from the Cold and saw that he actually had a heart. So, you exposed him for the scared, little boy he really was. La-dee-fucking-da! “Obsessive love is a form of love where one person is emotionally obsessed with another.” (From Wikipedia.org) I may have reached this point. But, it’s already dead and gone. This was months ago. I have nothing else to say about this. In conclusion: 1) I like my life. It could be better if I had more money, but it’s fine. I’m lonely sometimes, but that’s why they invented bars, alcohol, cigars from Danli and the like. I have no intention to harm myself or anyone else (unless they fuck (but not in a sexual way) with me). 2) I made the mistake of falling in love and realizing it too late. That’s my problem and my problem alone. Do not look at things and blow them out of proportion. That was always your biggest problem (among other things). 3) Do you actually get a thrill out of making shit up about me? I bet you do. I’m gonna say one more time. If you want to talk to me, fine. Fucking pick up the phone and call me. If not, SHUT THE FUCK UP. 4) Think before speaking. You don’t really know me. 5) After reading this, you’re probably going to call someone and say that I blew up your car or decapitated your dog. Don’t. Please refer to #3. Thank you. That is all.
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