People suffering from Capgras delusion believe their loved ones were replaced by impostures. A loved one may look the same, but no longer “feels” the same. Another possibility, is while a loved one may look the same, but no longer “feels” the same because the patient believes that he or she is dead. In that case, the delusion is known as Cotard.
I cried at my grandparents’ funerals. At least, that is what I recall. When my maternal grandfather passed, I was in the third grade. It wasn’t the first death introduce me to the thought of my mortality. The first is actually accredited to my cat Chauchi, who was hit by a car when I was about five. When I told my teacher that I would miss school to attend the funeral, she sent me to speak with the counselor. I didn’t go. Instead, I roamed around the campus until I felt enough time had passed. I wasn’t sad. If anything, I was more confused. Why had I been sent away from class?
When my paternal grandfather died, I was a bit more devastated. Again, I can’t remember crying. It wasn’t until my maternal grandmother that I felt an ounce of true loss. She was the only person, despite my inability to return her affection, who got me. The only one who stood up for me when I screwed up.
Sometimes I’m not emotionally invested in things. Ask any of my ex-girlfriends to confirm this. Like that Silverchair song – I loved it when they loved me, but I hated when I had to return the love. I may say I didn’t love them, or like them, or whatever misplaced emotion I had for them, but there was something that kept me beside them for a period of time. It’s something I can’t explain. Perhaps it was the sheer helplessness of knowing I wasn’t like anyone else. And while they didn’t fully understand me – despite their best efforts and continual need to say otherwise – I think the only reason I stuck around was because they made me seem, well, human. It showed others that I could make some human connection and the side whispers would stop.
Silvi: how do you detach yourself ?
Guillermo: beats me
Guillermo: i’ve never felt much for people
Guillermo: i guess they forgot to give me empathy when they made me
Guillermo: where I should feel for someone, or just feel sorry for them. I just pity them
Silvi: yes but have you never wanted to be with a person so bad it breaks you ?
Guillermo: Jyg, really.
On my way to work, I saw a kid bolt into traffic after being scared by a dog. I played it in my mind. I watched him get struck by the white car as it barreled towards me. I covered my mouth. I waited. The car stopped on a dime. Change to spare. The kid wasn’t hit. It was almost anticipated. Part of me wanted to see it happen. That part of me always frightens me.
Silvi: i don’t know what it is for me
Silvi: i just feel too much
Guillermo : i guess you inherited what i never got
Silvi: a little too much
Guillermo : I don’t want to feel too much
Silvi: a cynic is a disappointed idealist
Guillermo : i just want to feel something
Guillermo : be a little more human
Guillermo : because sooner or later, i’ll break
Guillermo : and I’ll either kill someone
Guillermo : or myself
The first time I realized my condition was when a classmate died in an automobile accident. Entirely his fault. Drunk. He died upon impact. Or maybe it was a slower death. The school was in tears the day after. He was a popular kid that I felt got what he deserved. My opinion wasn’t popular – it would never be popular. I showed no remorse. No sadness of hating a person who just died. When the school planted a tree in his memory, my first instinct was destroy it. Humans are a cancer. They’re even worse when they’re memorialized for their stupidity. The kid died of his own hand. He made the choice to drink. He made the choice to get behind the wheel. We should be grateful that he didn’t take out a family while he was at it.
I garnered a semi-reputation with a few people of being heartless – again, my exes might be able to confirm this. When others loved me and hoped for the affection in return, my first plan of action – and still is to this very day – is bolt into the oncoming traffic of the world and hope that I somehow survive unscathed. Everyone except Jyg. After all, she is my balance. Not a crutch. Not a person who I mooch affection off of and never return it. She epitomizes moderation. The hours I spend with her, I neither feel too much or nothing at all. I just am. Complete. The missing part of the puzzle.
There are times when I recall doing things that don’t come naturally to me anymore. I have the experience memories. I remember the feelings I had. I remember the scents. I remember waking up happy, sad, or angry. I remember having more than one emotion. I remember being hurt. I remember feeling loss. I remember hoping things never got any worse or any better. Sometimes I wonder if I have a Cotard/Capgras hybrid, if there is such a thing. I look like me, the way I sorta imagined myself to appear as an adult. But I don’t feel like me.
- The Psychology of Me (According to Reliable Internet Sources) (momfog.wordpress.com)
- Sköld, Writing & F(r)iends (cityofchapin.wordpress.com)
- The things I got from my grandparents (sporeflections.wordpress.com)
- Two Men From My Past (schizophrenicwriter.wordpress.com)