Everyone wants to cure someone. I remember when I came out as transgender. Various family members showed up at my apartment door and demanded that I reconcile my “sins” with “God”. They gave me religious literature and prayed for me while in front of me. It was degrading though amusing. Of course, I did not repent and this caused a strained period in which I did not talk to my family for many years. I lost friends for the same reasons and I began to live life as a loner, trusting few and hating nearly everyone. I don’t care if others want to cure some other third party; they sure as hell better not be trying to cure me.
I used to lose sleep over the fact that some will persecute others. The transgender is persecuted by the cisgender. The homosexual is persecuted by the heterosexual. Blacks are persecuted by whites. Psychopaths are persecuted by the neurotypical. Sometimes these persecutions are justified, sometimes they are not. On an individual level, behavior can be deemed acceptable or unacceptable to those holding power who can then exact their power on those that they can subjugate. I used to lose sleep, but I do not any longer. The childhood mantra of “being oneself” means nothing in the world in which we live in.
My dreams are often filled with violent imagery and the deaths of myself and others. I often awake in a cold sweat, having felt an all too real death of my being. My therapist and I spent time discussing this recently as I have not had a “good” dream in months, if not years, at this point. She surmised that my subconscious was focusing on what my consciousness has been feeding it: death, destruction, and chaos. For all my hedonism, my life is spent with a focus on death, rather than with that which composes a life worth living.
Every bone in my body aches. It has been two years since a diagnosis of ASPD was made regarding my personality. In that time – initially skeptical of such a diagnosis but since coming to accept its validity – I have made efforts to show restraint to bring order into a life of chaos. I’ve mellowed my antisocial ways, trying on various cadavers in order to stay in the good graces of society and those around me and to no longer tempt fate in the ways I once did. At what cost though? Am I slowly killing myself in order to avoid what may never be?
My therapist often reminds me of my distorted thinking. I tend to assume the worst case scenario when presented with any situation. Whether it is my fate after returning to work after an extended leave of absence or my own ability (or inability) to recover from foolish financial decisions, I often believe that the worst case scenario is the probable scenario regardless of any evidence for or against such an outcome. Combine this with the Borderline’s black and white thinking, and I live in a perpetual state of both nihilism and pessimism. I believe that such cognitive distortions are a result of many facets of my personality, most notably the aforementioned Borderline Personality Disorder and, to a large extent, my psychopathy.