It's easy to call someone a psychopath. You probably do it on a weekly, or even a daily basis. That dude who banged you and never called even though he PROMISED? Psychopath. Your boss who emails you about meeting Friday at 5:30pm? Psychopath. The new guy at the party who eats the last piece of pizza all willy-nilly without even asking? CLEARLY a psychopath.
Last night, I saw a picture of myself at CrossFit on a friend's Facebook page: I am mid-deadlift and my growing muscles strain at the weight. My expression is one of intensity and fear. Will I die? Not anymore. I'm certain that after I set the bar on the ground, as always, my muscles trembled with the righteous fatigue of joy.