And after all that…I feel slightly shamed for my sharpness about him. Is he a monster? He was certainly the vehicle for one.
Still, I have tried to not become one who hates, or is vindictive–even in spirit.
I should feel sad for him–and I used to. A great danger for me–feeling sorry for him. He does what he wants, who ever it maims. He does not need my pity. He will use a person’s pity, the pity for the lost boy within him. He used mine, anyway.
Here is what struck me in this book I just read–The Sociopath Next Door, by Martha Stout–
“Question your tendency to pity too easily.
Respect should be reserved for the kind and the morally courageous. PITY is another socially valuable response, and it should be reserved for innocent people who are in genuine pain or who have fallen on misfortune. If instead, you find yourself often pitying someone who consistently hurts you or other people, and who actively campaigns for your sympathy, the chances are close to 100% that you are dealing with a sociopath.”
“Do not join the game.
Intrigue is a sociopath’s tool. Resist the temptation to compete with a seductive sociopath, to outsmart him, psychoanalyze him, or even banter with him. In addition to reducing yourself to his level, you would be distracting yourself from what is really important, which is to protect yourself.”
“Defend your psyche.
Do not allow someone with no conscience, or even a string of such people, to convince you that humanity is a failure. Most human beings DO possess conscience. Most human beings ARE able to love.”
That right there, is what I allowed, but fought. That right there, is what I want you to know, with all my heart. That I hope you do not allow someone to convince you that YOU are not able, whether because of “craziness” or “sameness” to another who is unable [the sameness--it's the trick and it's not true]. Because your heart and perception have been damaged–do not believe you are unable to love, or have real love. The world would truly be ripped off if that lie were bought.
Rae–once again, I admit I have little restraint. I think I do, but clearly I cannot pace myself here. Maybe the plug in my life has been pulled. Or more like a clog.
I do not say all of this for you, or at least not at you–but for finding the words.
I hope they do not find themselves ever unwelcome.
You are a gift you know–I have been scared, in my own way. The hard scar of him, I don’t hide. But it feels picked at now, and it makes me all those things I have not felt in a while–paranoid, vulnerable, in a weird and not adult way almost.
It’s too weird–we talk as though we are survivors of something so much more dramatic, drastic and “valid” than a man. It was so much more than that to me, so perhaps it’s not so weird.
I need to stop, for I find I have not eaten since yesterday. Times like this, I struggle to do the normal things–eat, sleep, don’t become overly anything.
And always I need those things the most, whenever I have emotional work to do.
I know I have mentioned some other things revealing themselves to me, back to back with our own discoveries. So many things, now made more clear to me, a relief; enlightening and full circle, yet exhausting.
A friend has just come—company.
So, I’ll see you.