A Spiritual Awakening

My First Bible

In gr. 10, something happened to me that was pivotal. I attended a Catholic high school. The school priest asked me if I wanted to join his confirmation class because my religious education teacher took notice of me. (I vaguely remember the invitation having something to do withmy responses to a morality questionnaire she had issued.) I agreed, as it amounted to a “get-out-of-class-for-free” card. This priest gave me my first Bible, and I read it. And so the first seeds of my faith were planted.

“For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” – Hebrews 4:12

It was at that point in my life that I began to have exceptionally vivid dreams of a spiritual nature. These definitely had a very profound impact on me. In fact, they made me feel special and set-apart. But I did not change any of my behaviours or even become aware of their profound aberrance. In spite of my chronically abusive behaviour, I didn’t consider myself to be a morally deficient person. I just didn’t think much about it at all.

Adult Psychopathy

As a young adult of 21, I continued to get into fights with people. I once punched my boyfriend (who is now my husband) in the face, after he reprimanded me for spitting in the face of a bus driver who refused to comply with my illegal request to bring my dog onto the bus. Such altercations were typical for me, and persisted into adulthood, occurring even after I was saved, though much less frequently. I remember a fight with a clothing store manager and another with a clerk at a Chinese grocer’s. Speaking of the dog, I sometimes beat her. I had very poor impulse control.

I managed to graduate from college with honours, though I skipped many of my classes. University was a different story. I was simply incapable of applying myself diligently to my studies for a sustained enough period to graduate.  I did, however, quit school with a stellar G.P.A. This is in part because I visited a certain professor several years later and asked him if I could re-take some exams to improve my grade.  He told me it wouldn’t be necessary, and asked me what I had obtained on the mid-term exam for his class. I lied and said A-; he retrospectively and illegally modified my grade.

I will be blunt: I was a very good looking young woman. I have no doubt this had an influence on the soon-to-be-retiring old professor. But I actually deserved many of my admirable grades. If I were ever to return to school, I would be starting from an excellent vantage point, academically.

Yet I was headed like a freight train into a life of criminality and destruction.  The seeds of evil that had been planted in me were maturing, and the Bible teaches that the fruit of sin is death:

“… each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.  Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.” –James 1: 14-15

Then, something truly amazing happened which halted my downward spiral in its tracks.

A Personal Encounter with Jesus Christ

My boyfriend’s mother had recently become a Christian, and was witnessing to me a lot. At that time, I had been studying religions and mysticism because I was seeking to enrich my “profound occult wisdom”. The “God” question had really started to grow in my mind, because I was having vivid dreams and spiritual experiences that I could not easily explain or rationalize away. So, in typical fashion for me, I set upon a rational and systematic exploration of the world’s religious traditions. I prayed to God without realizing how guilty I stood before Him, as I had no inclination of myself as a morally deficient person. I asked God to reveal Himself to me.

And He did.  : )

I will always remember the details of this dream as though I had it yesterday. I was standing in the kitchen at my parent’s house, rummaging through the fridge, when a powerful realization washed over me:

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed to myself, “My Lord is in my house!”

So I went to meet Him in my parent’s room; there was no need for Him to call me. He was wearing a robe of pure white; he had shoulder-length brown hair, and the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. I instantaneously recognized this person as Jesus; there was no mistaking His identity. For a time, He just held me. I was filled with an incredibly powerful sense of unconditional acceptance and love, and I felt more profoundly relaxed, secure and at peace in His arms than I had ever experienced before in my life.

After holding me for a time and stroking my hair, He blew right into the middle of my chest- into my solar plexus- and He said something that I did not understand:

“Your heart was blocked, and you were in danger of dying, but you are going to be okay now.”

 “Is it because I smoke?” I asked, for I thought that He meant that my arteries clogging, even though I was only 21 years old.

At this point I felt myself beginning to wake up, and it dawned on me that I had other questions I wanted to ask Jesus while I had Him with me! Just as the tendrils of consciousness began to overpower my dream, I mentally projected to Him an image of the Tree of Life, for I had been studying the Kabbalah, and I asked Him if it was good.

“It is good”, He replied, “But from now on, I want you to see it like this…” And the image I had projected of the Tree of Life was transformed before my mind’s eye into a triangle. In retrospect, I understand that Jesus was showing me the Trinity.

It is notable that I was not aware at that time that Jesus had imparted the Holy Spirit to His disciples by blowing upon them. When I first read this in the Bible, my heart melted.

For days following this experience, I didn’t even want my boyfriend to touch me, so profoundly had this dream impacted me. Even so, I did not- or could not- immediately change my behaviours, but I believe that it is at this point that my heart of stone actually softened. I accepted Jesus and started attending church occasionally. There, I felt incredible outpourings of love so intense that they literally reduced me to tears.

I had never experienced such a strong emotional catharsis in my life.  To this day, I thank God almost daily for His intervention in my life.

Manipulation, Magical Thinking, Thrill-Seeking and Violence

Manipulation

I was very scheming and hurtful in my relationship with one boyfriend in particular- the only person with whom I successfully had a long-term relationship other than my husband. I tried to manipulate and coerce him into performing homosexual acts with other guys because it got me off, and I became enraged when he refused to comply. A whip smart debater, I was very good at justifying my abusive behaviors, to the point where I had almost convinced us both that he was being the irrational jerk. 

I remember once dumping scalding fries with hot gravy all over this boyfriend’s head, and ripping the shirt off his back at another point during the altercation. I had a vicious temper.

Violence

Once, the girlfriend of this boyfriend’s brother made the mistake of confronting me at a party in which we were drinking and generally trashing his mother’s house. I went berserk. I don’t remember all of the details of our fight, but I used my diamond ring to scratch a very long, deep gouge into her face that required stitches. I was thrilled and empowered by the fact that I had managed to afflict her so severely, for she was a big girl, but I never felt remorse and consistently insisted that the incident was entirely her fault. In fact, I made her out to be a crazy person; for she had attacked me first, although I most certainly provoked her. Indeed, these kinds of situations provided me with an excuse to say to myself… “Ok.  Now I am TRULY justified in messing you up”, and let loose with aggressive abandon.

“Magical Thinking”

By that time, I had become practicing witch. Unlike some witches, I had no problem exploring “black” magic right away. I invented bizarre, intense, hate-filled rituals, in which I sat naked and used my own blood as a reagent, and sought to exact vengeance against those who crossed me. I filled journals with hate-filled vitriol towards my exes’ new girlfriends. I really believed I successfully tormented my enemies through these rituals.

Provocation

I was not racist, but I occasionally dressed up as a skinhead because I revelled in the looks of outrage on the faces of black people when they stared at my big Doc Marten boots and their bold white laces- an emblem for white-power. I threw pennies at Jews. I looked for fights to pick.

Bloodlust and Thrill-Seeking: Playing with Knives

I went through a stint where I became obsessed with vampires. There was a time a certain boyfriend and I discussed at length the idea of murdering someone, just to see what it would feel like.Though I was excited by this topic, a mild discomfort would settle over me as we considered the illicit subject, and I knew, even then, that I would never be capable of such cruelty.

Nevertheless, the thought of slicing into someone’s skin and licking their blood does not make me shudder with revulsion; in fact, it is mildly arousing. I know I should be ashamed to admit this, but I am not, nor am I tormented by the fact that I occasionally have thoughts of this nature, even to this day.

A friend and I used to chase each other with knives occasionally because we both drew a perverse pleasure from such altercations, which were more like  an act, although our anger was very real. (At least, his was; I don’t remember feeling much except for excitement.) Once, our fighting got sufficiently out of hand for someone in our group to call the police. At that point, we immediately covered for one another, and our bond was sealed. Ironically, he is the only childhood friend I have kept in touch with over the years, but we communicate only sporadically.

Apart from this person, I have not carried into adulthood a single friendship from my adolescent years. In retrospect, I believe he is a sociopath. We were literally partners in crime.

He has tried to talk to me about his black rages and alcohol abuse, but all I can do is point him to Jesus.

Adolescence

While I had been difficult as a child, the proverbial shit hit the fan when the horror-monal storm of adolescence hit me, so to speak.

Reckless Behaviour…

At thirteen, I huffed paint thinner for the first and only time so as to experience getting high. My maladjusted, unsupervised “friend” of 14 had to tell me to stop, although I understood, intellectually, what the “DANGER” symbols plastered all over the canister meant; I was not a stupid child. Had my acquaintance not shaken me out of my stupor, I would have likely died. Later that evening, I was confronted by my distressed mother, who smelled the pervasive odour of varnish remover throughout the house. As such, I resolved to experiment with “safer”, more discreet drugs in the future. I also performed many sexually inappropriate acts with this acquaintance while my mom was out working during the day.

Stealing…

I stole frequently and was once caught and prosecuted, because I showed such extreme contempt toward the guard who apprehended me. I followed a court-ordered rehabilitation program, in which I discovered that I could steal up to a thousand dollars in merchandise without being convicted of a more serious felony. That is all I took away from the program.

Vandalism…

I vandalized and destroyed the property of others, for the sheer thrill of it. I once broke into someone’s car and tore open their briefcase, emptying all of its contents into the street, ripping papers and laughing as I meandered along, alone at night. I certainly didn’t feel guilty about it.

Without Conscience

I cheated whenever I could, lied constantly, delighted in antagonizing authority figures, abused drugs and alcohol, was *very* promiscuous, and got into fights often, mostly to alleviate boredom. I once ran away, hooked up with a street punk, and refused to come home without him. When my mother declined to allow him to stay at our house, I crashed in a stranger’s apartment for the night- clearly a heroin addict. When I finally did amble home, my little misadventure having run its course, a detective was waiting for me at our kitchen table. I yelled, swore, and raged at him too. I was 14 and out of control. I had (and still have) a very bad temper. I never felt bad about the reprehensible things I said to that man.

I still remember very clearly a “revelation” that I had at the age of thirteen: I don’t HAVE to tell the truth about anything. I can lie, steal, cheat, manipulate people and manoeuvre circumstances to achieve my will. *I can do whatever the hell I want *. I discovered that I was able to shut off my shallow conscience like a faucet, and it was very liberating. This remains a source of temptation for me to this day.

High School and Juvenile Deliquency…

By the age of 15, I did indeed do whatever I wanted.  My mother had lost any semblance of control over me, as I simply bullied her to get my way and refused to obey her at all. My father had moved out by that time. Our relationship had grown increasingly violent, as I would not permit anyone to be in authority over me. It was good that my mother kicked him out for cheating on her and abusing cocaine.

I was popular in high school because I had earned a reputation for being very smart but equally tough. I was daring, charismatic and impulsive, and I usually had a crowd of people surrounding me. I hung out with the druggies and delinquents and read philosophy books, mostly for show. None of these people were really my friends; I used them to bolster my reputation and to gain easy access to drugs and alcohol. I felt smugly superior to them all. They also provided me with ample stomping grounds in which to find willing victims to seduce and manipulate. I had become increasingly obsessed with seducing, manipulating, and obtaining power over others. Eventually, this led to a fascination with the occult.

Because I am fairly intelligent, I breezed through high school in spite of rarely attending class and deliberately antagonizing every teacher who had the misfortune of crossing my path. I drew a perverse delight in cruelly exposing their intellectual ineptness and lack of knowledge regarding the subjects they purported to teach. As a result, I had numerous suspensions and conflicts with the principal. I skipped class frequently. When I was present, I was frequently intoxicated. I was not kicked out because I managed to retain a passing grade point average, but also because I suspect my mother begged the administration not to expel me. I learned to forge my mother’s signature perfectly and did so often. I felt absolutely no remorse over my conduct. Over the course of my adolescence, I was put on drug watch, suicide watch (utterly ridiculous, for I was never at risk of committing suicide) and every other kind of watch they could muster. They even hired a social worker to track my little group of “friends”,who spent most of her time talking to me. I presumed this was because I was clearly their leader, and more intelligent than the rest.

A Diagnosis of ODD

At 15, I was diagnosed with ODD (oppositional defiance disorder), but I manipulated my therapist and rarely told her the truth about anything. I certainly never told her about all the vandalism, dishonesty, deliberate manipulation and pervasive violence. My mother used the premise of her divorce to insist that I see a psychologist. She acknowledged that *something* was off; I lied chronically to everyone as it suited my purposes and I was verbally abusive and occasionally violent with her, as well as to my partners in several relationships. But I never suffered from depression, delusions or psychosis, so she didn’t really believe anything was seriously wrong with me. I also know that she minimized my actions to the psychologist, with whom she would meet separately.

 

Family History

Genetic Predisposition…

I believe that there is a hereditary component to my aberrant behaviour, through my maternal uncle, whom I strongly suspect is a sociopath, and my father, whom I have just come to realize is likely a psychopath. The man spent 7 years in prison for aggravated assault, and the stories I have heard regarding his violent exploits, as recounted by himself and others, are startlingly brutal.

He once ripped a man’s ear off, and another time, he gouged someone’s eye out. I think he may have raped his sister, but I cannot be sure of this, as I have never asked him. Interestingly, there is a family history of mental illness. His sister, who had become a prostitute, committed suicide as a young woman, and his brother is a schizoid with whom he does not have a relationship today.

By the time my father settled down with my mother and conceived me at age 35, his violent tendencies had subsided somewhat, as he never went to prison while I was growing up. He did, however, engage in drug trafficking and was repeatedly unfaithful to my mother, although he was never violent towards her. She simply would not have put up with it, and he knew it. My mom had risen out of poverty to become a highly accomplished professional who earned the bulk of the money in our household.

Though my father “earned his keep” as a blue collar worker (and later, a shit-disturbing union leader) for the city, he didn’t do much of anything around the house, except vent his rage. He was very unpredictable and selfish. My mother and father would fight a lot, and he was always verbally abusive.

Not surprisingly, my dad remained a somewhat violent man. He carried a bat under the driver’s seat of his car that I once saw him rush out and threaten to beat someone with.

Sometimes, he would hit or kick me. He called me plenty of names. I was not a chronically battered kid, but he was not by any means a consistent disciplinarian, nor was he a particularly good role-model. My dad was more like a selfish, bullying, unpredictable teenage brother than a father.

To this day, when my father recounts an act of brutality from his past (and there are a string of them), he does so in a very matter-of-fact way, expressing little or no remorse. In his mind, his actions were “justified”, because he was “defending the weak”. (Bear in mind that he is describing acts of unspeakable violence, and I have never understood how they were in defence of the weak.) I have been feeding my father the nourishing milk of Scripture in small doses that he is able to digest, so the subject of repentance is one I that *must* broach with him, but it is very tricky. He is more liable to lose his patience with me than anyone else. He acknowledges this, and says it is because I am so much like him.

Until fairly recently, I didn’t think I was anything like him at all.

Incidentally, my father wet the bed regularly until late in childhood. (I know this because he mentioned getting beaten for incontinence as a boy.) I suffered from nocturnal incontinence as well, but only sporadically, as I remember it.

My dad has mellowed out considerably in his old age, but in some fundamental respects, he remains exactly the same: emotionally stunted and self-centered, exhibiting poor impulse control and a pronounced lack of patience. Thankfully, his aggressive “spells” are less frequent now, and they are exclusively verbal. He and my mother are back together, and our family is very close. There is no major dysfunction, and that alone I suppose is miraculous, all things considered. This I attribute entirely to God, specifically, to the Spirit’s work in the hearts of my parents. My mom has become a Christian. I am teaching my father slowly, and I think he has accepted the Lord.

God is in the business of healing hearts- even black, scarred ones.

Childhood

Earliest Memories…

My earliest memory is one in which I caused another person horrific pain. I was on some sort of swing set contraption with another child when I was suddenly struck by the overpowering urge to pull the kid’s pigtails. I remember tugging on them viciously and relentlessly, in spite of the big noise she was making, and enjoying the sensation of having the power to induce such a major reaction. There was nothing about the child’s crying, screaming or begging that compelled me to want to stop, I did not “feel her pain” or empathize with her to any degree, and I only stopped because of the parental intervention and fuss that ensued. Nevertheless, I do not think that such displays are universal or even reliable indicators of future antisocial temperament; this type of behaviour is no doubt common to many children.

Primary School…

I never got along with other kids during my early childhood because I always insisted upon holding the entire balance of power in my interactions with them. When I was four and five years old, I refused to play with others unless I could first get them to agree that I would be the boss. As a kid in primary school, I frequently became vocally belligerent, and regularly got into physical fights with children who teased me. I was an odd, smart kid who was ostracized and rejected, and the subject of frequent verbal humiliation. Yet I did not fear the children who tormented me, nor did I permit myself to develop the mentality of a victim, which I perceived as weak. Sometimes, I confronted my oppressors vehemently, in conflicts that would rapidly escalate and end in violence. Other times, I would hide in the bathroom and cry throughout recess.  I was prone to hyperactivity, tantrums and violent outbursts, and I could never keep my mouth shut when opposed or defied. Yet I consistently achieved the highest grades in my class, in an enriched stream. I baffled and exhausted my teachers.

In spite of my poor impulse control, strong-will, and vile temper, I was emotionally sensitive, yet treated very harshly both at home and at school.  I had no siblings to confide in, no deep friendships to help me through.  My father, being a psychopath, was prone to physical and verbal abuse.  My mother worked all the time.

By the time I reached high school, I had been negatively socialized to the point that I had effectively become antisocial. I was able to literally “shut off” caring what anyone else thought of me or my behaviors.  The defense mechanism had become deeply entrenched: I didn’t like people, they didn’t like me, and I could not have cared less.

I had learned to be self-sufficient.

A Pattern of Abuse…

At home, I had some “normal” friendships where I was not overtly abusive, but there was one little girl, Julia, whom I regularly delighted in exploiting. One day, she found a beautiful rock encrusted with gold and white quartz crystals that I coveted intensely. So I waited until she went inside, and simply took it. I claimed it as my own, and refused to let her have it back, overtly declaring that I had found it. This was typical of our relationship. She was a few years younger than me and thus very easy to manipulate. Whenever I mistreated her to the point that she would threaten to “tell on me”, I bribed her with candy or treats, for she was overweight and prone to gluttony. Sometimes I was obliged to fulfill my conniving promises to her, but more often than not, I found ways to avoid paying the bribe. I never felt guilty about it.

Grossly Inappropriate Reactions…

I alienated another childhood friend due to an incident in which I reacted in a grossly inappropriate manner. I used to haunt an old shipyard near my house, which was abandoned and unsupervised. I would convince my friend to climb onto huge metal barges with me. The ships were pretty high from our perspective along the land, which was a big peninsula that had a bike path running along it. As we embarked upon the ships, our weight would start to push the barges away from the side, so we had to scramble to get on without falling into the water. I was riveted and energized by the challenge. One afternoon, however, things took a turn for the worst. My friend got stuck with one leg on a ship and the other on land, and the ship was moving away from the peninsula. She was stuck and really panicking, screaming frantically. She had also begun to cry.

I didn’t help my friend, because I was literally doubled over and rendered completely ineffective by my hysterical laughter. She was begging me to help her, but I was laughing to the point that I had tears in my eyes, because there were stinking, rotting fish and loads of garbage in the water right under her, and this struck me as uproariously funny. (On some level, it still does. I cannot help but chuckle as I remember her horrified, bulging eyes.) Some guy riding along on his bike had to stop and assist her out of her predicament, as I was unable to stop laughing. I’ll never forget the way that guy looked at me. His eyes clearly said: there is something *seriously* wrong with you, kid, and he was probably right.  This girl stopped being my friend after that point, as I showed absolutely no remorse.

This was a pattern in my childhood friendships. I was impulsive, manipulative, cruel, and prone to leading my friends into dangerous, risky situations.

None of my childhood friendships endured into adolescence.

Confessions of a Christian Psychopath

This blog is for people who are or who have been affected in some way by ASPD – Anti-Social Personality Disorder- previously known within the psychiatric community as two separate, distinct disorders: sociopathy and  psychopathy. Hitherto, I will refer to this umbrella diagnosis as “sociopathy”, although it should be noted that certain distinctives exist between psychopathy and sociopathy.

Just what is ASPD, anyway?

ASDP is a personality disorder. Those affected by it do not suffer from psychoses; they do not have trouble differentiating the real from the imaginary, nor do they suffer from delusions or hallucinations. The most notable traits associated with this condition are a lack of empathy, lack of remorse, callousness, glib, superficial charm, shallow affect (short-lived, shallow emotional responses), blunted reactions to pain and fear, poor impulse control, and, frequently, uncontrolled rage and violent outbursts. Sociopathy has sometimes been called “moral insanity”.

The sociopath may manipulate others so as to achieve a desired outcome without regard for how it will affect those he mistreats along the way, and he may or may not do this in a conscious manner. He will frequently derive pleasure from volatile interactions in which he exposes and uses the vulnerabilities of others against them. The sociopath loves to argue and may be extremely self-centered, yet he is frequently intelligent and articulate, and he will always rationalize his outbursts in a manner that seeks to “justify” his behaviors. He may be involved in illegal activities without any concern for societal constraints or legal repercussions. He may leave behind a string of unpaid debts, broken relationships, and a legacy of irresponsible conduct.

Although sociopathy cannot be formally diagnosed until a child has reached the age of 18, the condition may be present before then and is often diagnosed as conduct disorder or oppositional-defiance disorder (ODD). All current evidence suggests that these disorders have genetic, biological origins, but may also stem from environmental influences.

A Generational Curse and a Personal Encounter with God:

I am genetically predisposed to ASPD through my father (who is a psychopath) and maternal uncle (whom I strongly suspect is a sociopath). I exhibit, or have exhibited at some point in my life, many of the traits associated with ASPD, including a tendency towards violence, poor impulse control, blunted reactions to fear and pain, and a dulled sense of empathy. I believe I was bent towards psychopathy, in particular, from childhood, and that many of these characteristics persist in my nature to this day. (Read my story and judge for yourself.) I seek to put them to death in Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior, or to sublimate them in a way that poses no harm to myself or others.

You will note that I am not a diagnosed psychopath or sociopath, nor do I claim to be either at this point in my life. At 21, I believe that I had a very personal encounter with God that changed the course of my life forever.  This is the overarching context in which I wish to speak openly, for the very first time, about a condition that I have recently identified in myself. If you cannot handle a faith-based perspective, don’t bother searching here.

Now that I understand what I am naturally inclined to be, I am even more grateful for God’s presence in my life. Left to my own devices, I don’t have much of a conscience. My belief in Christ has given me the moral compass and identity I have always lacked, but I still struggle with many issues that I have not been able to resolve over the years. I never understood what predisposed me to being so callous and empathetic, when the vast majority of my Christian acquaintances have a much easier time playing nice. That this cluster of traits and behavioral patterns should have a name is both disturbing and oddly comforting to me.

At the age of 15, I was diagnosed with ODD (oppositional-defiance disorder), although I manipulated my therapist and rarely told her the truth about anything. I certainly never told her about all the vandalism, dishonesty, deliberate manipulation, pervasive violence, and substance abuse that characterized my life at the time. In reality, I was a walking poster child for the more serious conduct disorder.

Now that I have become self-aware, I do not intend to seek therapy, in large part due to the stigma associated with ASPD. Nor do I intend to turn to my community: I have no burning, overwhelming desire to admit to my local body of Christ that I am, or was, a psychopath! I have a hard enough time maintaining authentic relationships with these good folks, because I cannot connect deeply with people. Besides, I do not think many of them could relate to the nature of my struggles.

More importantly, as a Christian, I do not believe in everything that secular psychology has to proffer. I think that psychopathy and sociopathy are manifestations of what the Bible calls a generational curse, something I delve into more deeply elsewhere on this blog.

Moreover, I believe these conditions exist along a spectrum, and have complimentary, positive qualities that may be of great benefit to society. After all, if those aspects of my character that withered into antisocial traits had been well-tended, they might have bloomed into qualities like steadfast courage (as opposed to recklessness), a clear-minded resolve to articulately defend strong convictions (as opposed to a desire to provoke or outrage), and a willingness to stand up for counter-cultural truth at the risk of being unpopular (as opposed to being cruel or ruthless.) After all, I possess these traits too.

Why This Forum?

My aim is to provide a forum for people who want to probe their condition in-depth so as to explore the roots of their problems, cultivate empathy, identify common triggers, find effective ways to deal with anger/rage issues,  and overcome the addictive cycles  frequently associated with this personality disorder.

This is a place for healing. I admit that I am not fully healed of this condition. I cherish my sin, and in many ways, my sin still lords it over me. But I desire to want to change. I welcome insights from everyone. You will not find any judgement here.

Please note: my aim in creating this blog is not altruistic; I will be posting primarily about my own experiences, so that I have a means of being real without hurting anyone. Hopefully, writing about my antisocial patterns and tendencies will have some therapeutic value, allowing me to purge them, and to integrate or sublimate them in a way that does not harm others. I have trouble connecting with people and often feel as though nobody quite understands where I am coming from.  This is a way for me to reach out without getting too close, in a way that is comfortably anonymous.  In this manner, I can permit myself to be completely honest about my past and present, which is delightfully liberating.

If my experiences can help someone else, all the better. The Spirit moves in mysterious ways, and my way is to always give Him room. So feel free to read and peruse to your heart’s content, or find some other place to explore. (Here, I’d like to give a nod to M.E. at www.sociopathworld.com, who has a very insightful blog encompassing a treasure trove of information that helped me a great deal. Thanks.)

I will carefully guard my anonymity and I will not, under any circumstances, divulge personal information that might serve to identify me in real life, so please do not ask. If you recognize my testimony and for whatever reason you have stumbled onto this forum, please do not mention it to me in real life. I do not wish to be confronted or identified, nor do I wish to hear about your personal struggles in this regard, other than anonymously, on this blog. And rest assured that I pose absolutely no threat to anyone in society at this point in my life.

What’s YOUR story?

While I intend to draw primarily from my own experiences in writing this blog, I would love to hear your story. Do you struggle with ASPD? If so, do you desire to get better?

Please feel free to post and share. I will comment as I am able.