If I go to the well frequently enough, I must dip my bucket further into the shaft to alleviate my thirst. This is my relationship with the macabre. I am convinced that the overwhelming majority of psychopaths have bloodlust even if they may not act on them – and, hopefully, they do not. I am no different. However, I do not fear crossing the line into battery or worse. I fear being paralyzed by these unwanted and intrusive thoughts. In order to quiet my mind – and engage in a bit of pleasure seeking behavior – I seek out the macabre at every chance that I can. Am I doing more damage than good, however?
My convictions are selfish in nature. Most issues of social justice and tolerance are of no importance to me. Where I am incongruent to progressive thoughts of egalitarianism, I lose no sleep. I am biased and bigoted in my own fashion, as is every other human being on this earth. I am susceptible to change and realignment, however – just not in the manner that most progressives undertake when changing their own held values and bigotries.
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.
My therapist and I had a lengthy discussion about morality this evening. I’ve been struggling the past few days with knowing where I lie on such a spectrum ranging from ‘pure good’ to ‘pure evil’ after confessing some particularly damning thoughts to her. I’m an ardent intellectual and the knowledge that I could not separate the expectations of society and other pressures from my own internal view of self – which is weak, of course – bothered me quite heavily. Did I care where I lay on the spectrum? Did I not care? Was it better to know or not know? etc. etc.
At what point do we cross the boundary that society has set for us? More importantly, at what point do we cross the line between ‘okay’ and ‘not okay’ that we police ourselves with? Do we know when we are on the wrong side of it, or does it sneak up on us? These are all questions that I’m struggling with after a particularly thought-provoking therapy session this evening. I thought I had a bead on my own alignment. Am I just lying to myself instead?
I touched a bit on my anger management issues in the previous post, but I wish to elaborate a bit further with this one. In many ways, the psychopathic condition is one of being child-like. We don’t like doing our “chores” (parasitism), we reach out for shiny objects that catch our eye (impulsivity), and we often cannot regulate our own behaviors (poor behavioral controls). The jury seems out as to whether the majority of psychopaths have the anger problems that I do. Sometimes I am painfully slow to anger, and other times I am set ablaze by the tiniest ember. There does not seem to be rhyme nor reason to whether I am slow burning or whether I immediately punch my red button and go nuclear.
I am a loose cannon. I rarely consider what the best long-term plan is and give undue weight to what satisfies in the present. My narcissism may require a modicum of validation from other people, but by and large, I do not care how others perceive me. I know that I am superior. A reminder from time to time is nice but not required. Regardless, I often get myself into trouble because I am perpetually unhinged.
“Don’t take your mask off for too long,” they said. “You’ll never be able to put it back on,” they warned. I dismissed such advice as being too restrictive for a psychopath trying to maintain her good standing in the world. You know what, though? They were right. I’ve passed my event horizon and now there is nothing I can do to appear as I once was.
When I came out as transgender, many years ago at this point, my mom decried the “freak that her womb produced” and wished aloud that she had aborted me. If that is how she would react to what is visible in her life, I can only wonder how she would react to the invisible and the internal. Of course she is not around for most of my antisocial acts, though if she were astute and not blinded by familial love, she would notice my parasitism. The point still stands. If we are disgusted by what resides in plain sight, how would we react according to those things that live in the shadows. Cock in mouth, needle in hand, bottle alongside the road: hi mom, won’t you look at me?