Sometimes I have to eat crow. A mess of personality disorders, it seems that whatever lies at the core of this person often has its words drowned out by the maelstrom going on upstairs. The comorbidity of psychopathy and Borderline Personality Disorder is well documented in the literature and results in a person that can be quite unpleasant to deal with. Sprinkle on organic illness, manifested within myself by Bipolar Disorder, and I can be a demon in the playground of angels. My intellectual self may often be drowned by competing disorders, but occasionally she cries out, trying to stop the madness. I know that in order to continue my own recovery (from Borderline Personality Disorder in particular), I have to own my disorders and – gasp – take responsibility for my actions. Personality disorders can never be an excuse for bad behavior, no matter how well they model such unappealing traits.
The image in the mirror is distorted. I can vaguely make out that the reflection before me is, in fact, me. I have changed in many ways since I began psychotherapy four years ago. The creature that only went to session as a means of placating her husband has grown into one that actively seeks ways to better herself. What started as a journey to understand one’s depression turned into much more, and the bigger picture had to be revealed for any progress on any front (intrapersonal or interpersonal) to be had. All of that said, there are demons that cannot be shaken and all progress is relative. The only cure-all is the realization that the individual can ultimately create change. All of us have the capacity to change, though it would be a lie to state that we can expect total change in any form.
I’ve said most everything there is to say on the subjects of ASPD and psychopathy at this point. When the sinner chooses restraint, there is only so many insights that can be gleaned. Rather than closing up shop, however, I’ve decided to poke deeper into my own psyche and to write on those experiences that are strictly my own. The “lessons” may not be easily generalized, but I still believe that there could be merit in such writing. I will continue to write specifically on psychopathy as insights are revealed to me, but I do not wish to succumb to radio silence.
I live a lonely life. I’m not sure whether this is due to my self-loathing from years of childhood abuse, my misanthropy that is fueled by my ASPD and psychopathy, or the fact that my Bipolar disorder makes me much needier than I would like to admit. Whatever the reason, my life is spent physically alone with only those virtual connections giving me any meaning or purpose in an interconnected sense. This does distress me. I may not believe in equality (as I reign supreme relative to those around me), but I do believe in having interpersonal connections.
When nothing is satisfying and pride and accomplishment are as fleeting as the lives around you, what can you hope for out of this life?
No scheme, no victory is ever enough. I chase the next and greatest fix to make these days bearable but nothing comes close. The people that I use and the aggressiveness that I exhibit are, in many ways, tools for construction that can never be completed.
There is a price to pay for the energies of hypomania. Eventually the pendulum swings the other direction and soul-crushing depression is had. Trying to describe the depression is difficult. It is as if any passion for life is drained and everything seems hopeless. It is not logical, but is very real. When I am depressed, I am at my most dangerous. I am a proverbial two-year old, not knowing why I am distressed, but knowing that something is not right. And, like a small child, I lash out, throwing tantrums, until someone can make the pain go away. All I ever want in life is to be in control; I am not in control when I am depressed and I never know how to regain control as the depression is an uninvited beast that leaves only when it is full.