While very few confirmed psychopaths are prototypical – that is, earning a perfect score on the primary instrument of assessing psychopathy, the Psychopathy Checklist – Revised – it would be foolish to believe that any psychopath is not prototypical in certain aspects. My impulsivity, for instance, is legendary and pervasive to the point to where I can cite examples from each waking day that interfere with my livelihood. The space between nightmare and fantasy is often one traveled by the psychopath with her wanted bloodlust. This concept extends to other areas as well and really we must think of the gray area between fiction and truth. Those that wish to white knight the psychopath often gloss over the fact that the stereotypes of psychopaths could not exist without the extreme actions of a subset of us. The only difference, in most cases, between the desire of the mind and actuality is the level of restraint that the psychopath has built up.
I’ve been facing another identity crisis as of late. Two and a half years ago, when confirmation of psychopathy was made by my psychotherapist, I thought that I had finally found insight into my inner workings and core self. A Cluster B storm, the combination of ASPD, NPD, and BPD seemed to shed light on my callous and uncaring self that required limitless supply from others in order to function. Fast forward to today and I am not sure that the picture is so clear anymore. It is well documented that many psychopaths mellow as they grow older and as my hair starts to grey, I can certainly relate. Two separate mechanisms, the head and the heart, are starting to grow closer together than they ever have, and it makes me deeply uncomfortable. I am not uncomfortable because of the thought that I am drifting further and further away from the prototypical state of the psychopath (not that I was ever prototypical). I am uncomfortable because I cannot reconcile the fact that my cognitive self is thawing and is in opposition to the cold person that I thought was my identity and my core.
There was a time in which I was nothing but a caricature. I was completely dismissive of others, abused and neglected those in my life, and lived far beyond what this body was equipped for. I learned quickly that success in life was more probabilistic if I were to learn restraint and to be a more prosocial human being. It may not come naturally, and the benefits may seem far more intangible, but ultimately, this is what needs to happen for me. A life spent in constant pariah status is not a life worth living. One day, I hope my efforts will extend to the financial realm as well, given that my impulsivity and need for stimulation still reigns supreme. All of that said, we all have a choice with our antisocial ways. We can let realization or diagnosis be a turning point in our lives or we can succumb to tired tropes that once defined us. I know which I choose.
I see time and time again, through inquiries or on social media, the desire by many to be willfully blind to the antisocial condition. Frankly, it’s delusional. Ignoring all evidence in front of them, they seek to paint antisocials as the victims of society rather than the batterers that we are. I am more than willing to embezzle the trust that others give me, but I’ve also said all along that maybe you shouldn’t give the keys to the world to those that are already proficient in lockpicking.
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’.