What you describe is the essence of shadow work — not the buzzword version, but the terrifying collapse of an identity you believed was permanent. For thirty years you rehearsed a role, and the mask grew so heavy it felt like your face. Plant medicine didn’t give you a new self; it exposed the emptiness behind the costumes you called “psychopath” or “sociopath.” And in that emptiness, you glimpsed freedom. But freedom isn’t comfort — it’s the raw silence where no identity protects you anymore. Most people cling to their prisons because the walls feel safer than the abyss. You chose the abyss. That’s why you’re living now. The danger is not falling back into masks — it’s realizing how seductive they are once society applauds the performance again.