We are now gazing upwards at the bottom of the barrel
Posted: December 21st, 2023, 10:17 am
Right, so. Normally in real life I throw some jokes out to try and make the tension less thick and disguise my mental health issues, but I doubt that'd be appreciated here. Hello, my name is Jory - well, my nickname is Jory, my actual name is so grating to me I wouldn't tell it to anyone if not legally required to do so - and I am... I'm trying to take my therapist's advice and not be blunt or so forthcoming with horrific details that I unsettle people. Let's go with 'not doing well'. I was born without empathy, guilt or much of a sense of right or wrong and in a better life, those would be my main issues. Because my life has been a mess, those are only just now even registering as problems, because I had three much bigger issues that took up my mind's entire real estate growing up: stay alive, try to survive the sadistic sexual abuse with as few injuries as possible, and come up with a plan to get out of there.
The details of what went on, I'll spare you. It's not really going to help anyone to know the details of how I was pushed far past my breaking point. There was the sex, the group sex, the demeaning of myself by my foster family, the depersonalization, the ongoing verbal and psychological abuse telling me I wasn't a person, the starvation, and of course, the being punished for trying to get out. It was a rough decade between when I was 5 and 15. Eventually I got out - it's a long story and as with most of my life, it's ridiculous in a way that I would usually mock, were that not considered in bad taste - and then I got to live with my grandfather. It's been five years, almost six.
I survived. I have not been spared. I have fits of rage about what was done to me that make me trash the room or lash out at myself and injure myself. I can't connect to anyone, which is not actually a feature of my diagnosis - most people with Anti-Social Personality Disorder connect to someone - but is instead the result of not having connections my entire life. I stockpile food I don't need. I casually think up ways to ruin the lives of everyone around me in case I should need to do so because a lot of people have failed me when I tried to reach out and get help and get out of that hellhole and I do not trust a single person not to let me down. I keep in shape solely because I want to be able to fight the next person who tries to hurt me physically. I have never felt remorse for a single thing I have ever done and I don't feel bad for other people. I logically understand why things people have gone through are wrong and serve no purpose and therefore do not do bad things, because so far, I can't find much of a point to most asshole behaviors. As with most people with ASPD, I have no sense of self-preservation sometimes. I will do things that are insanely risky for no other purpose than because I feel like it.
A lot of the time I don't feel anything. A lot of the time when I do, I feel like a monster. That was what they always called me when they abused me. A monster, disgusting, deserving of everything they did to me. It was their biggest mistake. You can kill a person. Monsters are immortal. I am not a person. A person loves others, has empathy, feels regret, knows what they're feeling, and, tragically enough, can be broken. I was born broken and thus strong enough to get through everything they did to me without either killing myself or killing them (they do not deserve death, which is painless, when their entire existences were centered around causing pain). I am, like most monsters, more or less fine with what I am. It got me out of there.
It doesn't make it easy to live now. People ascribe a personhood to me that isn't there. People speak to me as if I'm meant to know how to act and react, as if we're part of the same society and just the same species. No one wants to admit that I'm a monster until they hear my diagnosis. Then they think sociopath, they think of violence, they think of danger and they leave. Opening up to people hits an eject button to throw them out of my life. Sympathy and empathy have hard limits and my diagnosis is one of them. It's not new. No one cared when I was a crying five year old, and I was cute back then. I can't blame them for backing away from me in the present when I've lost any hint of endearing traits. But knowing the reason why I can't connect and why any honesty will send people running away doesn't make it any less exhausting. I want a connection. I want hands in my hair like when I was four and my mom, may she rest in peace, would run her hands through my hair and tell me stories. I tried sex. It's not what I was hoping for. It's perfectly serviceable in the moment, but it doesn't address whatever this internal issue is. I think that might require keeping someone around long-term. The problem is, acting normal and feigning emotions you don't feel is extremely difficult long-term.
My therapist does what she can. It's not enough, not due to lack of skill on her part, but due to faulty wiring on my end. The podcast gives me a lot of insight into the minds of people. It makes it easier to know how to act to pass as a person. It also deeply exhausts me at times, because people seem to have hauled themselves out of dark places while my eyes have adjusted to the dark to the point I can't see in the light. But due to lack of other options and that classic ASPD "eh, even if it goes horribly, I'm not sure I actually care that much" mentality, I decided to throw this up here. Let's see if I can get some snippet of something that'll make me a bit less of a mess and more of a functional sort of monstrous. Worst case scenario, all of you just go "too long, didn't read!" and scroll on.
I'd apologize for the length of this message but honestly even if I felt remorse, I probably wouldn't about a lengthy vent after a decade of being a fucktoy and starved animal locked away in an attic. If anything this is pretty mild compared to what I could write if I weren't on my best behavior.
The details of what went on, I'll spare you. It's not really going to help anyone to know the details of how I was pushed far past my breaking point. There was the sex, the group sex, the demeaning of myself by my foster family, the depersonalization, the ongoing verbal and psychological abuse telling me I wasn't a person, the starvation, and of course, the being punished for trying to get out. It was a rough decade between when I was 5 and 15. Eventually I got out - it's a long story and as with most of my life, it's ridiculous in a way that I would usually mock, were that not considered in bad taste - and then I got to live with my grandfather. It's been five years, almost six.
I survived. I have not been spared. I have fits of rage about what was done to me that make me trash the room or lash out at myself and injure myself. I can't connect to anyone, which is not actually a feature of my diagnosis - most people with Anti-Social Personality Disorder connect to someone - but is instead the result of not having connections my entire life. I stockpile food I don't need. I casually think up ways to ruin the lives of everyone around me in case I should need to do so because a lot of people have failed me when I tried to reach out and get help and get out of that hellhole and I do not trust a single person not to let me down. I keep in shape solely because I want to be able to fight the next person who tries to hurt me physically. I have never felt remorse for a single thing I have ever done and I don't feel bad for other people. I logically understand why things people have gone through are wrong and serve no purpose and therefore do not do bad things, because so far, I can't find much of a point to most asshole behaviors. As with most people with ASPD, I have no sense of self-preservation sometimes. I will do things that are insanely risky for no other purpose than because I feel like it.
A lot of the time I don't feel anything. A lot of the time when I do, I feel like a monster. That was what they always called me when they abused me. A monster, disgusting, deserving of everything they did to me. It was their biggest mistake. You can kill a person. Monsters are immortal. I am not a person. A person loves others, has empathy, feels regret, knows what they're feeling, and, tragically enough, can be broken. I was born broken and thus strong enough to get through everything they did to me without either killing myself or killing them (they do not deserve death, which is painless, when their entire existences were centered around causing pain). I am, like most monsters, more or less fine with what I am. It got me out of there.
It doesn't make it easy to live now. People ascribe a personhood to me that isn't there. People speak to me as if I'm meant to know how to act and react, as if we're part of the same society and just the same species. No one wants to admit that I'm a monster until they hear my diagnosis. Then they think sociopath, they think of violence, they think of danger and they leave. Opening up to people hits an eject button to throw them out of my life. Sympathy and empathy have hard limits and my diagnosis is one of them. It's not new. No one cared when I was a crying five year old, and I was cute back then. I can't blame them for backing away from me in the present when I've lost any hint of endearing traits. But knowing the reason why I can't connect and why any honesty will send people running away doesn't make it any less exhausting. I want a connection. I want hands in my hair like when I was four and my mom, may she rest in peace, would run her hands through my hair and tell me stories. I tried sex. It's not what I was hoping for. It's perfectly serviceable in the moment, but it doesn't address whatever this internal issue is. I think that might require keeping someone around long-term. The problem is, acting normal and feigning emotions you don't feel is extremely difficult long-term.
My therapist does what she can. It's not enough, not due to lack of skill on her part, but due to faulty wiring on my end. The podcast gives me a lot of insight into the minds of people. It makes it easier to know how to act to pass as a person. It also deeply exhausts me at times, because people seem to have hauled themselves out of dark places while my eyes have adjusted to the dark to the point I can't see in the light. But due to lack of other options and that classic ASPD "eh, even if it goes horribly, I'm not sure I actually care that much" mentality, I decided to throw this up here. Let's see if I can get some snippet of something that'll make me a bit less of a mess and more of a functional sort of monstrous. Worst case scenario, all of you just go "too long, didn't read!" and scroll on.
I'd apologize for the length of this message but honestly even if I felt remorse, I probably wouldn't about a lengthy vent after a decade of being a fucktoy and starved animal locked away in an attic. If anything this is pretty mild compared to what I could write if I weren't on my best behavior.