I found out I wasn’t a psychopath – it was disappointing

Unqualified self-diagnosis risks becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy if we allow a label to define what we believe ourselves capable of (Picture: Jude Edginton) ‘You are not a psychopath. But if you hadn’t had the education and consistency you’ve had in life, you could well have turned out quite different.’ It’s a strange thing to admit, but I was disappointed when renowned clinical psychologist Kerry Daynes delivered this assessment to me. When I face a test of any kind, my instinct is to try to pass with flying colours – apparently, even one like this. Because for the past year, I had embraced the idea that I was a fully fledged psychopath. It was in early 2025 when I was researching my book How to Con Friends and Manipulate People, a parody self-help guide, that I came across a test to assess psychopathy called the PCL-R, or Psychopathy Checklist-Revised. It consisted of 20 questions, each scoring between zero and two points, generating a maximum score of 40. It said that, in the UK, a score of 25 or above has traditionally been used as the threshold for psychopathy. I began to reflect on my time in the City, as an investment banker (Picture:: Jas Lehal/London Paper) I found myself enthusiastically ticking boxes ‘superficial charm’, ‘impulsivity’, ‘lack of remorse’, ending up with a respectable score of nine. Generally, people get between three to six, which meant my score was low, but still over double what the average American man scores, and we all know how ‘serial-killer-adjacent’ our gun-toting cousins across the Pond are. What’s more, my ever-supportive wife looked over my shoulder and informed me, that I filled it in incorrectly, and should have scored maximum points for emotional shallowness, irresponsibility and lack of empathy. Armed with this new information, I began to reflect on my time in the City, as an investment banker. I have described the Square Mile as a vicious snake pit, and as my psychologist Kerry later explained to me, banking ‘directly rewards dark triad behaviour’ – psychopathy, narcissism and Machiavellianism. I had adopted the ruthless, manipulative and hyper-focused behaviour that I had so often seen thrive on the trading floor (Picture: Jude Edginton) I wondered if that was why I had managed to rise from lowly intern to heading up the second-highest-ranked equity team in London within a mere nine years, back in the pre-crash 2000s. My rapid ascent up the greasy pole could only be explained because I had adopted the ruthless, manipulative and hyper-focused behaviour that I had so often seen thrive on the trading floor. Fake calls to headhunters within earshot of my boss, taking credit for work done by a shy colleague and subtly badmouthing competitors for the bonus pool were all tricks I had used to maximize my earnings. Yet I must have had some kind of conscience: my antics led me to write an anonymous column called ‘Cityboy’ and a memoir of the same name, both of which helped assuage the guilt. Read Geraint's book Geraint Anderson’s latest book, How to Con Friends and Manipulate People, is out now. After my new book was published in July this year, my story took another strange turn. Journalists and podcasters began to put me in the same bracket as Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper and even Simon Cowell. The satirical book praising the virtues of lying, cheating and trampling over your grandmother to get ahead, somehow became my psychological CV. One article I wrote for was headlined ‘I was a City Boy Psychopath’, while a podcast appearance was billed: ‘He knows how psychopaths manipulate you. He’s one of them!’ I watched helplessly as I totally lost control of the narrative as my wife had the considerable pleasure of declaring: ‘I told you so.’ I found that being labelled a psychopath pleasingly freed me up to be completely disinhibited and extreme (Picture: Geraint Anderson) That left two choices: I could indignantly deny these allegations or roll with them and hope they helped sales – I chose the latter and, strangely enough, began to revel in my newfound status. If I truly was a Cityboy psycho, then I’d make damn sure I was the best around. I would give them what they wanted, because ‘mildly unpleasant middle-aged Welshman’ wasn’t going to shift many paperbacks. More worryingly, I found that being labelled a psychopath pleasingly freed me up to be completely disinhibited and extreme, while feeling rather less responsible for my more controversial behaviour. It was liberating to believe interviewers and the public alike were not judging me but rather merely observing the predictable misconduct of an empathy-free predator. I started conveniently believing that my dubious behaviour wasn’t really my fault anymore but merely a product of my ‘condition’. I had pigeon-holed myself as a ‘corporate psychopath’ (Picture: Geraint Anderson) In this sense, my self-diagnosis had become a ‘get out of jail free card’, and it was on realising this that I began to wonder whether today’s fashion for self-diagnosis can sometimes serve a similar function. Breaking the taboo around mental health is undoubtedly a good thing, however our newfound enthusiasm for declaring ourselves ADHD, PTSD, OCD and everything in between could be having unintended consequences. Just as I had pigeon-holed myself as a ‘corporate psychopath’ and, in doing so, perhaps constrained my more emotional side while excusing my more questionable behaviour. Maybe it encouraged self-sabotaging behaviour that ultimately constrained my potential. It was this realisation that led me to Kerry who had co-authored a book with a good friend of mine and I asked her to perform a proper assessment, using a series of questionnaires and two Zoom calls. Her conclusion that I was perhaps a ‘situational psychopath’, who could dial up certain dark-triad personality traits when the circumstances demanded it, and that this was actually ‘the sweet spot for success’ – was a far more nuanced appraisal. It might not have had the headline-grabbing extremeness I had perhaps subconsciously been seeking, but I immediately recognised it as a fair assessment. Slightly annoyingly, after all those podcasts, I wasn’t Hannibal Lecter after all. I was, instead, just quite good at impersonating him when my workplace required it. For the past year, I had embraced the idea that I was a fully fledged psychopath (Picture: Nick Cunard) A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, and we humans are infinitely complex creatures. So, diagnosing other people with broad-brush categorisations that can then be used to dismiss them as ‘narcissistic’, ‘bipolar’ or whatever clinical term happens to be fashionable, can be dangerous. Equally, unqualified self-diagnosis risks becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy if we allow a label to define what we believe ourselves capable of. I am certainly not dismissing ADHD, social anxiety, agoraphobia or any other condition. Quite the opposite. But I would recommend that anyone who believes they may have such a condition seeks professional advice, as I eventually did, before allowing an amateur diagnosis to become a life limitation. Of course, despite my clinical assessment by a world-renowned expert in psychopathy, my wife still thinks I’m a psychopath. But then she’s obviously suffering from Spousal Infallibility Disorder. I know because I diagnosed her myself. Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. Share your views in the comments below. Arrow MORE: Yasmin’s vitiligo representation in Love is Blind could change lives Arrow MORE: I thought dealing with power cuts was easy – then the lights went out Arrow MORE: Prue Leith’s lunchbox ban reeks of classism Puzzles Newsletter Get your favourite puzzles when they are ready to play on the website sent directly to you every day and track your daily streak!