Dexter and I

I’d like to start out by stressing that I an not a serial killer. Seriously. I’ve never had the urge to take another human’s life. Maim, maybe, but never kill. There are no graves filled with animal bones from childhood experimental kills. The closest thing I own to a knife is a fencing foil, and you couldn’t even cut paper with that. So yeah. Me no killer.

And yet I feel an incredible connection to the character of Dexter, played by Michael C. Hall.

I blame my mom and brother for this. The few episodes I watched on the flight back from Paris weren’t enough to hook me. But after Thanksgiving break, I think it’s safe to say… I’m hooked.

Over the past week, I’ve watched the entire first and second seasons on Netflix Watch It Now, and am now using Sidereel to get the third. And as I’ve watched, I’ve seen a lot of similarities between Dexter and I.

First off, we both have major control issues. We want to have as much information as possible, and we often withhold or ration that information from other people in order to maintain control. This stems from similar hatreds of being helpless. Being in control keeps our emotions in check.

Second, we’re both completely useless in social situations. The level of conversational awkwardness is embarrassing, to say the least. Both the character Dexter and I are confused by the intricacies of social etiquette. Example: A few weeks ago, a girl down the hall from me crashed into the bathroom in tears. I was just brushing my teeth, minding my own business. Then another girl comes in and asks her what’s wrong. I consider both these girls good acquaintances. The question prompts a fifteen minute rant about the crying girl’s roommate problems. At the end, the other girl gives her a hug and I’m still holding my toothpaste trying to keep a sympathetic look on my face. It’s not that I didn’t care; I liked this girl and was sorry she was upset. What was hard was that I had no idea what to do. Hug her? Rachel and I don’t even hug. Say something? But what?

There’s also my inability to gauge when sarcasm is inappropriate. Like Dexter, my not always polite inner dialog sometimes hitches a ride with my vocal chords, and without meaning too, I’m seen as mean and heartless.

Third, there’s the whole difficulty-with-relationships thing, both romantic and otherwise. Every boy I’ve ever dated (and there haven’t been many) have been broken in some way. And I have never kissed anyone without my mind wandering. As if I’m going through the motions but my head’s not really in it. And thing about the majority of my friends, products of abuse, bulling, strange home lives and serious self esteem issues. I’m naturally drawn to people who are not whole, like the way Dexter is attracted to Rita. Anyone who I’m friends with that doesn’t have any of these problems has either known me since before I was broken or is just a tremendously good person who for some reason sees something worthwhile in me.

Fourth, we are both very solitary people. Lone wolves, if you will. When we’re in social situations, we often find ourselves wishing it was socially acceptable to leave. But at the same time, we also unconsciously crave to be a part of a community without feeling like outsiders. We’re just not sure how.

The differences between Dexter and me are worthwhile to discuss as well, though. Where Dexter shies away from his emotions (he does have them, he just doesn’t understand them), I can’t seem to escape mine. I’m so full of emotion that I’m completely crazy. But instead of pretending that they aren’t there or hiding from them, I work with them. Unlike Dexter, my emotions propel me to create, not to destroy. So I write, paint, take pictures, sing, make videos. And even though I seemed to have missed that day in elementary school when they taught us how to interact with normal human beings, I can be happy with the knowledge that I can feel, as horrible as some of that feeling can be.