Talent

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Purpose. It's very necessary and has always been very necessary. However, there's someone who doesn't have it. When asked to list her talents, she remains silent. People are surprised, saying that everyone has some talent. But she doesn't! Why is it so hard to understand? She once walked down the street and heard: "If it weren't for the stage, I wouldn't want to live. I couldn't live." Every word, every statement, is hard for her. It's very hard. It makes her stomach clench, but her heart aches. They have everything around her. And she? Nothing. But she lives. Just who knows for how long. She often stares at the clock. The hands behind the glass move so slowly. As if they, too, want to inflict pain on her. She doesn't know why she lives. And if you don't know why, then why live? She's a human being like everyone else. She has a heart, eyes, a nose, arms, legs, but she stands out. A stray look, sick thoughts. To others, she's simply stupid, and there's no point in kidding herself about it. No one knows that every day is a struggle for her. An effort. And no one will know. I ask myself: why doesn't she have talent? Why doesn't she have a purpose? Why is she condemned to... well, to what exactly? To death? Death while still alive? A child condemned to death condemns herself to death, literally. And then they say: she was a psychopath. But that's not true! She wasn't a psychopath at all, she was simply... I'm at a loss for words, so I'll quote an excerpt from her diary:

I sit alone within four walls. The light is out. The darkness seems darker than black clouds. There are ropes around my wrists. The ropes of life. Eternal demands and grievances. Endless questions, seemingly simple, yet I don't know the answers. I feel like the sun shining on rocks. It's clear that rocks don't need the sun. A hot rock could hurt someone even more, could be an obstacle to someone. Yes, I am that sun. Although the sun has power within itself, and I don't even have that. I was born a nobody and remained at that level. Although no. When I was born, I was someone. I was the source of my parents' joy. And now? And now... and now... I'm a shadow. Although no. A shadow is sometimes friendly to someone. And me? God! Why is this so difficult? Why did you send me here? I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't supposed to ask why. I also know I have to move on, but I don't even know who I am. And it makes me laugh when people say they know me. Or maybe I'm making the mistake of comparing myself to the sun, a shadow... maybe I should stop at saying I'm human? But how? I don't possess human traits. Well, you're right, little Angel. No one has ever established them, but if everyone has them, then I guess we can say they are human traits. You see. So I'm not a sun, I'm not a shadow, and I'm not a human either. Maybe I'm here to write a protocol about this miserable world and return... and die. And the protocol? It will die with me. For humans, the world is perfect.

And that's the end of the fragment. Is this person a psychopath?