To The Predators

There was a book release party recently, and Lydia Lunch was one of the people doing a reading, and one of her lines jumped onto my shoulder and into my ear.

“The sociopath abducted the schizophrenic out from under the psychopath”

For a long time this could have been a one sentence summary of my life. Not only in romantic relationships. This kind of toxicity bubbles and festers in friendships, families, among co-workers or housemates, though most quick references on these topics focus on just partners or family members. It wasn’t everyone in my life either, but all you need is one or two predator types in your sphere at any given time to turn it into an abattoir.

But the thing is, schizos who survive their attackers and themselves learn their enemies. Learn their tactics. Learn the head games, the gaslighting, the wedging, triangulation. Shorthand names for complex mental gymnastics. I get it too, you, the empathically-challenged, that this is what you know. This may be how you survived at some point, before you became the predators. Or maybe there’s no big backstory, pain and discomfort are your rig, your swig, your cotton candy.  It’s a waste of time to expect too much of you, I know. There are things about the human condition you’re not able to comprehend. You won’t get the supply you want so easily from me anymore, and that probably pisses you off. I don’t know what to tell you. Even when you could, you seemed pissed off, even as you relished every drop of anguish.

But seriously predators, trying to trick me into questioning my own experiences? At this point, after what I’ve been dragged through in the past? It demeans us both.

 
Here’s this full album, it’s really good.

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