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.

There are some misguided souls that believe that psychopathy can be cured.  Maybe if we are shown the love that others are, maybe our hearts will soften.  Maybe if the deal is good enough, we won’t backstab.  Maybe if we reach down deep enough we will find a metaphorical scared child unable to function in the world.  Or, maybe we can face reality and remember that personality disorders are for life.  There are no cures, merely strategies for limiting the damage.  I do not understand why some souls are hellbent on saving the incorrigible.  I don’t think it is about us, but rather about them.  They want to feel something as a savior.  They see something that they believe needs fixed.   In the end though, we don’t want to be saved – we are fine just as we were made: callous and indifferent.

It all reminds me of an exorcism.  The priest mutters his holy words and raises his holy relics in order to drive the demons out of another.  Is the priest really doing it to save the soul of another or out of his innate hatred for the unholy form he sees before him?  This distinction matters.  Why are others trying to save us?  Do the love the sinner they see before them (empathy) or do they hate even more the grotesque creature in front of them?  No thank you, I’ll keep my warts and my scars.  I don’t want to be anybody else, and you cannot mold me into a shape that I dismiss.

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