I grow old. I grow old.I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.I do not think that they will sing to me.I have seen them riding seaward on the wavesCombing the white hair of the waves blown backWhen the wind blows the water white and black.We have lingered in the chambers of the seaBy sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brownTill human voices wake us, and we drown.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prubrock by T. S. Eliot
One way of knowing one is getting older is by the number of people one knows who are dead. I had a friend whom I have known since the age of 13 and I recently learned she was dead. We met in a nuthouse which had been my home between the ages of 13 and 15. We had been really good friends for years but had drifted apart a few years ago. She was the first person to tell me I was a psychopath. I called her about a year ago as I had just discovered it was possible to get one’s medical records from our years of incarceration. I thought she would be interested and excited at the prospect. She would have been at one time. This time, not so much. I asked her if she remembered telling me I was a psychopath. She denied remembering that and volunteered the information that she wasn’t “impressed by them anymore.” Well, that chilled me and I mentally let her go as a person no longer of any interest to me. It was interesting to see how easily I dismissed her as she had once been really important to me. After a while, I began to miss her and feel nostalgia so I tried to contact her only to find out she was dead. That was kind of a shock as this was the first person (other than parents of course) that I had known from so long ago who was dead. It’s so final.
I had another friend with whom I had been close about 35 to 40 years ago. We were still friends on Facebook but hadn’t really spoken much for years. Just yesterday, she contacted me to question me about my psychopathy. I’ve been “out” on Facebook for over a year so I assumed my old friends knew by now. I have friends on Facebook from many different times in my life with whom I shared different interests. I have a bunch of political friends. The great thing about them is that we can still debate our interests in a rational manner and agree to disagree when necessary. Other friends were gathered from various interests and enthusiasms such as the novels of Anne Rice. These weren’t merely email friends. I actually got together with them over the years. We’re still friends but not as involved with each others’ lives. Then there are friends I’ve made more recently with whom I share the experience of being in Cluster B. I’ve been more involved with them then the others recently and sometimes I forget there’s a world outside our little circle. I love them for their open-mindedness. I can be myself among them in a way I have never before be able to.
This old friend has totally rejected me based solely on my psychopathy. To her credit, she did give me a chance to “explain” but she found my writing “long-winded,” too much trouble to bother reading. Meh!
Well, that’s why psychopaths wear masks. People can’t deal with reality. I can afford not to give a damn at this stage of my life. I can let people go if they can’t accept me. And have room for those who want to be in my life.