All sorts of effed up
Could you imagine, assembled in a room, all of the different people a sociopath or psychopath has kept so neatly segregated, so individually groomed with custom information that plays to their specific vanities and insecurities, so painstakingly compartmentalised?
What would happen if they started talking to each other? What would happen if the sociopath/psychopath was not even there to do damage control? Not one bit. What if they were not talking about just anything, but had gathered for the express purpose of sharing their experiences and intimate feelings about the sociopath/psychopath?
My husband (with whom I’d successfully maintained no contact with for one full year) died a few days ago. Since then I’ve had some of the most incredibly awkward conversations. People he’s known for 20 years have said to me that they are finally realizing that he was never who they thought he was and experiencing that eerie chill down their spine. It is the most surreal thing.
His memorial and his funeral are going to be… interesting? I’m kind of afraid to attend, but that’s another post in itself.
I’m starting to find out more and more about the insanity and ridiculousness he told people, not only about me, but about everything. Cleaning out his tiny apartment was intense. I cried, again, for the millionth time since I broke free last year. It’s over. It’s really over. Except it’s not, not quite yet.