(no subject)
My conscience weighs me down, nails me down even. It tries to keep me still, tries to suffocate if you will. In my quest to be completely free, I am hindered by this gargantuan cinder block. It will never leave; it is as much apart of me as my dreams and aspirations. It refuses to be ignored and needs only to whisper to pull at my heart and mind, but even still it chooses to scream and shout like a nagging child. This beast is created by my hand, based upon my own perceptions, and these mental wounds are self inflicted.
I don't believe that sociopaths have no conscience, I just think it's defined in different terms. I believe that when we die, we're going to face ourselves and the outcome is going to be determined by what we feel. I've got a tough judge and a high bar to reach.
I don't believe that sociopaths have no conscience, I just think it's defined in different terms. I believe that when we die, we're going to face ourselves and the outcome is going to be determined by what we feel. I've got a tough judge and a high bar to reach.