I am not sure my stories would be therapeutic for you.

I am having a difficult time pasting the link but if you google disociative and psychopathy you will see some studies, if you haven't already, one being from Standford. There is a notable amount of violent criminals who have amnesia about their crimes. Not malingering to beat a rap, but genuine black outs. So I believe you when you say you can't remember the worst things.

The worst things I have done, I cannot remember either. I know I have done them because of external evidence, but I can't remember doing them. Maybe a long time later, I might have a brief flash of a memory, but I treat the memories as though they were just dreams. I have some really twisted dreams. But some things, I know are not dreams.

I started blacking out around my dad. He was violent and explosive. I watched him beat my mother nearly to death when I was 4 or 5. He really hurt her bad, put holes in the wall with her head, broke dishes and objects over her head, and beat her like he was fighting a man. My memory was of the argument between my younger brother and I, which led to me spitting on him, then my mom told me to go up to my room, then my dad said no: I was to stay, and my brother was to go to our room (my dad favored me, and acted like my brother was someone else's kid, and my mom tried to overcompensate for this terrible disparity by favoring my little brother, but I was too young to understand it). This led to the two raising their voices in anger, which was something I had never heard before. I was scared. I got my brother and ran up the stairs to my room. But then my memory was of me floating down the stairs and still seeing the violence. My mother later told me that my father came up to the room and grabbed me and carried me downstairs and made me watch what he did to her. For the most part, I still can't remember.

Sadly that was not even my first black out. I seem to have a funny feeling that I was brought along on a mission of revenge once, in which I heard a loud noise outside the van and then we had some cargo in the back and I was told not to go back there. But I did. When my dad heard me talking and playing in back, he said "I told you not to go back there." "What's wrong with him, dad?" "He's sleepy. Come back up here." I think my dad found my imagination amusingly morbid under the circumstances. If this was not a dream, and it is possible it was, why would I have been brought along (for the same reason he made me watch him assault my mother?)? Was he teaching me how to deal with people problems, like a mother cat teaching her kittens how to hunt? Or did I have a sick imagination? I dunno. Another time, I had a funny feeling he had run over a guy who was begging for money and tried laying down in the road till he got some money. This was an area where you didn't want to slow down. Bump...bump! "Don't tell your mom: I hit a rabbit."

I blacked out again when I was 5 years old. I was being cornered by a bully that was maybe 13 or 14 years old. I had a dog friend that unofficially adopted. Other kids warned me not to ride down the street on my bike making noise or the dog would chase me down and bite me. What did I do? I got right on a bike and rode down that street yelling and hollering. The dog started chasing. I let him catch me. He started mauling my leg, like drawing blood and everything. But I only petted him affectionately while he was biting me. Eventually he stopped biting and started licking the blood from the wounds. After that, he was MY dog. I couldn't bring him home. But he was mine. So when that bully cornered me, I was only concerned because I had chained this dog to a nearby tree and I did not think he would be able to get off the leash. He growled loudly and viciously, enough to scare the bully. But the bully saw he was chained and decided to gamble. I looked at the dog in the eye, then looked at the bully, and the dog broke the chain! I blacked out then. Only vaguely remembered the guy's legs being bloody mincemeat, and he was screaming and crying and begging me to call the dog off. But I was giddy with delight and did not call off the dog. The next day my dad told me he had been contacted by the parents of this boy and the police. He said they said I sicked my dog on this boy for no reason at all, and the boy was hospitalized with 90 stitches. He said a man tried to intervene to help the boy but I threatened the man and warned him to mind his own business or he would be next. My dad wanted to know where the dog was. "I think you would know it if I had a dog, dad. I don't know where that dog is. Isn't my dog. I don't know where he is. And I didn't sick the dog on him. He broke his chain to help me." "He broke his CHAIN?" Only many years later did I remember the man who tried to intervene. The screaming drew him to us. I told him to stay back. He said he could not do that, that he had to help that kid. I said I would call him off soon enough. He said now. "It's too soon," I said. "He hasn't even gotten to his arms yet." The man took a step forward and I said the dog's name, and the dog looked at the man, and the man became rubbery with fear. "Last chance to go away. If you don't, you will be next." The man said he was going to get a gun and shoot the dog. I told him that if he was lucky enough to hit the dog, I would get my dad's 45 and kill him. But he would have to shoot me before he shot the dog, and if he shot me...my dad would kill him and bury him out in the woods. He backed off. I remember vaguely hiding the dog far away and feeding him, and after things settled down I took the dog for a walk back in the neighborhood where this happened. I made sure that man saw me, and the parents of that boy. My dad told me that boy did not deserve what happened to him. But I said, "I can't believe a bully picks on me and the only thing your concerned about is the bully. He got what he deserved."

I always wondered if I had disociative identity disorder. Because I have time periods which are blocked out, not just specific memories. On the other hand, it may just be that I am like all the others that black out their crimes. I am surprised at how mean I was at 5 years old. There was a girl who just loved me, no matter what when I was 5. I wondered if she would still love me if I shot her in the stomach with my dad's blow dart gun. She did. It did not make sense logically.

Those days are over. I treat people the way they treat me now, or the way I would like to be treated. The Golden Rule. You should think about that.

Think about where you learned it from. I was innocent once. So were you. We did not deserve what happened to us; and innocent people do not deserve what we do to them.