June 26, 1967
Naturally, I swore my close friends to secrecy which ensured the sordid truth spread quickly. Some people said I was stoned, drunk or dangerously disturbed. Oddly enough, many of them were the same people who used to say I was a dull, goody-two-shoes brain. Was it possible to be both?

The goody-two-shoes preacher's daughter Kathy (in confirmation white)
The goody-two-shoes preacher’s daughter Kathy (in confirmation white)

A preacher’s daughter is supposed to be a good example. I should’ve been getting A’s in summer school or reading great literature at home, not sitting in a police station signing a confession like some juvenile delinquent.

The smoking sociopathic lunatic Kathy who doesn't know when to shut up, appropriately clothed in black.
The smoking sociopathic lunatic Kathy who doesn’t know when to shut up, appropriately clothed in black.

Fifty years later, it’s safe to say I’m more the preacher’s daughter than I am a smooth criminal. But it would be a lie to say there isn’t a trace of the social misfit (I’m loathe to use the word sociopath) that I repress. It’s the part that seeks out gory true crime books in an attempt to learn why they do what they do as if by understanding the dark motivations in others, I might understand the dark corners in myself.

Is that my Shadow? Like I said, I don't really know him that well.
Is that my Shadow? Like I said, I don’t really know him that well.

Jung referred to this as the Shadow. A crucial part of the process of individuation is coming to terms with your Shadow. I’m still getting to know mine.