It’s been a while since I’ve written. I do not waste my readers’ time with ramblings that are not directed and I do not waste my time if I have nothing to say. I thought that maybe some time off would help my psyche; can it really be good to be surrounded in darkness at all times? I wanted to see if I could unwind the intricate and interweaved relationship between “me” and my psychopathy. I wanted to test the waters of trying to live in that state of ignorance once more. I thought about what it would be like to no longer be “pg”. And, I’ve come to realize that the condition and myself are permanently linked, just as they always were, even before it had a name.
I don’t want to be cliche nor a caricature. The violent thoughts and images that I bathe myself in linger well after I shut off media for the day, however. I cannot stop with lies, even if they have no merit in the moment. My impulsivity is mostly unchecked, so on and so forth with the other facets of the disorder.
Thus, I have been in deep reflection these past few days. I do not know where I begin and the disorder ends. I don’t know whether my tenuous grasp on pro-sociality will continue forever. I’m not concerned emotionally with the possibility of complete self-destruction; I’ve never been. I do need to know, however, whether I even exist on my own. At my core there is little but a beating heart. My mind seems not to be my own. The line between self and disorder blurs and the lights continue to dim. It’s a fascinating, yet harrowing, tug of war in the deepest trenches of my psyche.
I do not believe in absolute fate. I believe that we may have probabilistic futures, but our choice allows us nearly any future that we’d reasonably like. What is reasonable for me? I know what is unreasonable. I will never be mother as I would be tempted to kill the child. I will never be lover as my brain will not allow the emotion. The condition is one of absolute possibility and total impossibility. There is no escaping that it will shape me until the day I draw my final breath.
I’m no closer to knowing many of the answers that I seek than I was over two years ago. I am hollow. Like the atom, I am nothing but a seemingly infinitesimal core surrounded by nothing but disorder and empty space. My disorder is me. I am my disorder.