My Life as a Machine: Criminal Minds

Am I a criminal mind? Every time I watch TV shows–Law & Order, CSI, Criminal Minds, Castle–I always know who the villain is. Is there something wrong with that picture? At one point, I wanted to be a private eye…not a detective or investigator, but a private eye. It was because I could see through cases and put the puzzle together. Who did it? I knew.

My question is: who’s side am I on?

I never tortured animals when I was growing up. I loved them. I wanted to help them, to heal them. Even when my cats scratched up the crap out of my hands, I numbed my body to bites and scratches from animals. Nor did I mistreat people or machines. Some were as dumb as animals, but I didn’t lash out at them because they were stupid. I always regretted doing any harm to anyone. I guess that’s what makes the difference: I have remorse. So I know I’m no psychopath.

But I can feel the tip of darkness inside of me. When I see something haunting, I blockade any feelings from penetrating my brain. Instead, my brain goes into a logical mode, refusing to acknowledge how horrendous crimes really are. I don’t feel sympathy for anyone, no matter who they are, so I can sleep at night.

I can gauge another person’s reactions and thoughts, and I change myself to respond to others. I think that’s more of being a minority than being a crazed killer, but it still irks me. Why can I tell what kind of person someone is? I did this at work. I did this in friendships. I knew if the person was someone not to trust. If I got a bad feeling, I dodged them. One thing I know about the criminal mind is predicting how people are. That’s why psychopaths are so charming. They know not to look like killers. But I don’t seek absolute control nor lashing out at anyone. Another difference.

Still, sometimes knowing the criminal mind makes me wonder if I’m not one myself.



My Life as a Machine: Love

I’m a machine and I know what love is, but it’s always escaping my grip. I want it so badly sometimes, and I know that simply desiring it can get me what I want, but I really need it. Take off my strength, my guards, and I’m like anyone else. I need love.

I haven’t found it. I can’t make myself fall for someone. I just do. It’s been almost three years since I was truly in love with someone. Now, I’m wondering if I ever moved on. Ever since we broke up, I haven’t been in a serious relationship. Once someone confessed their true feelings for me, I sent them away. Now, I’m not getting any younger, and I’m craving the one thing that only another machine can give me.

My mentor told me that when I’m ready to be in love, I’ll send out a signal to the universe and people will become attracted to me. I don’t know if that’s true. But you know what’s crazy? People are more likely to want someone if they’re attached. If they’re attached, they’ve got the chops to be attractive. But what of the people who aren’t attached? Am I less attractive because I’m single?

My Life as a Machine: Finding MY Voice

Fernando said that I don’t have a voice in my writing. I find that laughable in the sense that writing was the only hobby I’ve held on to since I was in fourth grade. Once I realized how true his words rang, the laughter died away and I was left with only one question in my mind: Why?

Technically, I write well. No grammatical errors and the transitional sentences are in the right places. However, I write like a robot. When I step back and suddenly face my own writing, I feel the urge to erase everything. “What’s wrong with me?” I think, and I can’t complete what I set out to do–to write a great article. But then, it gets stamped on.

As an artist and a poet/songwriter, writing should be easy. Maybe I’m psyching my mind out for making it harder than it really should be. Maybe I’m analyzing it too much. The problem must lie with who I am as a person. My friends think I’m a robot. When I admitted how scared I was of fire, combustible things, and balloons, they were surprised.

“It humanizes you, I guess,” my friend said one time. “You’re like a robot.” It was no different for other people. There’s this perfect image that people see in me, and I personally hate it. But I can’t change who I am. I am well-rounded. I am approachable. I am intelligent, confident, and ambitious. So how does all of that translate to being inhuman? I guess it’s because I’m good at too many things.

Honestly, I used to feel like I wasn’t human, like I couldn’t communicate with people because we weren’t speaking the same language for some reason. In eighth grade, I spent a year not talking to anyone. It was like being mute made me disappear and I was happy. I had no expectations on my shoulders. I was simply me, invisible old me. I was tormented in one aspect of my life during that time period, but I was happy when I wasn’t being judged. Writing felt natural then. I guess it was the only way I could speak to the outside world without having any real contact with others. I didn’t want to hear other people’s voices because they scared me. I already had so many thoughts, so many voices in my head, and I didn’t want anymore of them haunting my mind.

Maybe I really didn’t get over hiding away from the rest of the world. I mean, without other people, no one can judge me and no one can yell at me for saying something wrong.

Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I am holding back something, and I’m afraid to let it go because of the consequences. If that’s the case, I haven’t changed as much as I thought I have. Reality is, I am afraid of myself sometimes. I don’t readily tell people this. I’m scared of myself. I’ve purged a great deal of negative thinking from my self and I have controlled any anger problems I used to have. But no matter what I do, there’s this nagging side of me that’s dark. I’m scared of that person because I’ve seen this side of me come out, and I always hurt others when that happens. That side is the inhuman side of me–like the Sylar personality from Heroes minus the murderer–and she can definitely do some damage.

I’m wondering if that side is where my true voice lies. Maybe I haven’t fully found myself. After all, a voice is a significant part of you. If I have no voice, I can’t give anyone a straightforward answer, let alone, a dead-on editorial.