A far too familiar noun in my dreams is the wood chipper. Being run through it, running others through it; these dreams are those that I am less thrilled to have (not that I have many pleasant dreams). Several times a month, it comes back to haunt me with its familiar one-note song and bloody imagery. I don’t exactly know what it symbolizes, but I suspect that ‘total destruction’ is on top of the list of possible interpretations. As always, I walk a fine line between ruining myself, ruining others, and assimilating as the gentle, good-natured, gentrified psychopath that I am supposed to be on this earth. The forces are always at an uneasy truth and I have my bumps, but ultimately I’ve done a pretty good job at staying out of jail and in the good graces of society.
However, I bring this up because a haunting realization has come upon me as of late. I used to write to champion those like me; those ASPD and/or psychopathic individuals that somehow make life work. Over the years, however, I have come to realize that I am nearly alone on this front. Who then am I actually talking to? Why do I continue? I’m not saying I’m going anywhere, but the blood, sweat, and tears that I put in seem forced the longer I remain as ‘pg’.