The being was all-consuming. Everything it touched was reduced to ash and infinite denizens of infinite realms were subjugated. It was simply known by the name that could never be spoken, out of fear that the whispers of eternity would summon its presence. Immeasurable pain and immeasurable pleasure were found at the eye of the storm but were irrelevant as the mass could not interpret either. Both everything and nothing could paint the picture needed to understand the confluence of ultimate power as its carcass swarmed with maggots and decay that no artist could ever capture. It simply was and would be, without beginning or end, and with neither alpha nor omega to be found in the writings on the wall.
I’ve been quiet for a few months, staying resolute in my belief that I should not write if I do not have insights that are enlightening nor entertaining.
I have plans for a 3-4 post arc in the coming days that may be of interest. This arc will possibly signal the end of updates for this blog, but I cannot rule out occasional insights that may be documented in the future. I have ideas for other writing unrelated to the topic of psychopathy, but as I continue to mature and grow mindful, I find it difficult to maintain the high standard that I set for myself in this realm.
I maintain that my current trajectory in life is not one of redemption. Redemption would imply that I have atoned for my sins of the past and am immune from their temptations in the future. My latent state will always be antisocial; that is what I am at the atomic level. But, as with chemistry, different arrangements of atoms result in different properties even if the atom, at its core, is of property ‘X’. No, my current trajectory is one of reprogramming. My unquiet mind will always be distraught with the internal monologue detailing the differences between the conscious and subconscious as well as the intentional versus the automatic. No matter how much I want to know whether I am conscious in my desires to be a better person these days, I must concede that there are certain mechanisms that are beyond my control. I am a subject of my own psychological experiment. As I consciously strive toward prosocial behaviors, my subconscious begins to morph. As the subconscious evolves, its call overwhelms the conscious mind. I am left with a Mobius Strip of a person, with no clear beginning or end. For a being without identity, this is especially distressing and terrifying. At some point, I have to let go. At some point, I have to concede that there is very real reprogramming that was once under my control but is no longer.
I know that I’m repeating myself, but it has been awhile. Whatever remnants of my antisocial spectrum disorders continue to fade as I grow older and the line between conscious and subconscious restraint blurs.
I’ve been thinking about the nature of my failed interpersonal relationships. I tend to go nuclear, causing a certain finality to occur, rather than ghosting. I suppose that it would be healthier to simply vanish rather than viciously ending those interpersonal relationships that I find irritating or otherwise unfulfilling, but no matter how many times I remind myself of this fact, I still detonate. I don’t have any answer for this self-inflicted problem. I know that many under the antisocial spectrum – especially those with comorbid Borderline Personality Disorder – act as I do.
For those of you that are more graceful with severing interpersonal relationships, please share your techniques in doing so if you once acted as I did, or if your natural proclivity is to explode as I do.
I will probably not be updating regularly, but it may be possible to write briefer, more frequent posts, since I have said nearly everything there is to say regarding the antisocial condition. I don’t wish to waste my time nor my readers’ time. If you are curious about those projects that I still engage in, in other areas, please feel free to reach out to me. I wear many hats and this blog is merely one outlet for my creativity and drive. However, I am not going to muddy the waters; this blog is for my writing, not my other endeavors. At thirty-one years of age, I am hopeful that my antisocial ghosts will only haunt me in mind and not in action. In as much, I myself have become a ghost as well, merely haunting my old arenas and letting the words of the past remain steadfast in their aegis.
I dislike self-diagnosing individuals. There is little to gain when embarking on a dangerous journey without a guide. However, I hate even more those laypeople that diagnose others with personality disorders. Often, such people are trying to equate their disdain for an individual with a viable and biological or environmental explanation. They cannot accept that others may be defective individuals on their own. And, ultimately, they deny the darkness that lives within each and every human being – most importantly, the darkness that lives within themselves. How many times have we heard that Donald Trump is a narcissist and Hilary Clinton a psychopath? How many people that know better are spreading such potential misinformation based on their own ignorance and prejudices? We must reject such banter. We must sew their mouths shut.