All this time I thought he was psychic. Turns out he’s a psychopath. Now, I go over everything he ever said to me. I unpack the prisms. And I shudder at the things I’ve done and repeated, instructions from the wacko.
I’ve hurt people I have lashed I have wounded and I have laughed in their faces as they cried. When I reported my triumphs I was rewarded. And so a cult of two began.
I know he is calculating and greedy to a degree rarely seen. He worships objects. Now he is old and he is frail and he can hardly carry the stuff around. He points at things with his cane and orders his housekeeper about. Endlessly set designing. Rearranging. Fresh orchids. Entertainment. Attention. Adulation.
Almost daily friends are dying. Friends kill themselves. The playing field, and the numbers, and the game itself continually changes.
Now when I look back on what I thought was good advice, helpful and getting me somewhere I realize it did. It got me to a point where I am free. I don’t regret letting him use me. He had some enemies he managed to wreak revenge on through me. He used me. But I allowed it.
I always suspected he had evil in him. I overlooked it because it suited me. And I thought if it’s true, still it didn’t affect me. I was wrong. How could it not affect me. Secondhand smoke. Last we spoke I heard the evil in his voice over a matter that had nothing to do with me or him. But I heard the worst of mankind, our proclivity for sadism. I heard it loud as crystal cracking. There’s no going back.
I was a teenager the first time I encountered evil and it broke my heart. The rest of my life has been a series of meetings with similarly doubtful moments. Little further proofs.
Get away from toxic. Stay in the light.