Category Archives: essays

When time stands still: 15th anniversary of 9/11

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394261 14: A fiery blasts rocks the World Trade Center after being hit by two planes September 11, 2001 in New York City. (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

394261 14: A fiery blasts rocks the World Trade Center after being hit by two planes September 11, 2001 in New York City. (Photo by Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

Not too long ago, one of my regular readers spoke of seeing a bunch of military tanks practicing for a martial law takeover. In America, I am hearing of an increasing number of incidents like this. I try to avoid the news, but there’s an increasing and unavoidable sense of panic that our nation may be on the brink of a removal of all our freedoms as martial law becomes the norm rather than the exception. It’s very frightening.

But what I really want to talk about is the feeling of unreality and dissociation that accompanies seeing something like what my reader did.  She said when she saw the tanks, she felt as if she was dreaming. It didn’t seem real to her. I know that feeling, and I think almost everyone who is old enough knows that feeling: it happened on September 11, 2001.

I think just about everyone remembers exactly what they were doing the moment it happened. I’m not sure of the psychological reasons why whenever there is a major historical disaster — JFK or MLK getting shot and killed…Pearl Harbor…The Challenger disaster…9/11 — we remember exactly where we were and what we were doing with unusual clarity. It’s as if our mind takes a picture at the moment we hear or see bad news.

Here’s how I remember 9/11. It’s hard to believe it was 15 years ago, because my memory of it is so clear and sharp edged. Yet I can’t remember what I had for breakfast that morning.

That day was a brilliant and beautiful, filled with sunshine, not a cloud in the sky. It was warm as early September can be, but the oppressive humidity of high summer was gone. Fall was in the air.

I was at work, in the lunch room, making myself a cup of coffee when I heard. A coworker came in, looking pale as a sheet. He said one of the Twin Towers in New York was down, that a plane had crashed into it. I stared at him, thinking he must be joking. But I could tell from his face he was not. I forgot all about the coffee, and followed him into one of the offices where a TV was on. Everyone was gathered around the TV, and there was an eerie silence. No one said a word.

On the TV they were showing a replay of the plane crashing through the first tower. I felt like I was dreaming. No, this couldn’t be real. It looked like a movie — an action movie like “Independence Day.” No way was this happening. It had to be a movie, with phenomenal special effects.

As I stared at the screen, I saw the second tower go down in black smoke and flames. A plane had crashed through it too. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening. It was some elaborate set-up, like the “War of the Worlds” bogus radio newscast back in the 1930s.

In a fog, I slowly walked back to my desk. I only had one phone call that day. Although the office didn’t close, no one was working…and no one cared. No other customers called. No one talked, except in hushed whispers. There was a lot of crying going on, even for those who had lost no one in the disaster and had never been to New York City in their lives. As for myself, I felt nothing. I just felt numb. I didn’t feel like myself at all. It wasn’t until the next day that I burst into tears thinking about it. I can’t even imagine how it would have felt to have been right there, watching these horrible events unfold from a New York City apartment window, as many did…or worse, be just outside the towers when it happened.

Whenever we hear bad news, whether it’s something that affects only us (such as when someone we love dies) or something that affects an entire nation like 9/11, we remember these events with the clarity of a movie. I’m not sure what the reason is for this, or what purpose it serves, but I believe it’s a form of dissociation–when we temporarily split from ourselves and feel as if we’re viewing the events from an outsider’s perspective. That accounts for the surrealness of these moments. It’s why we have a photographic memory for them. Maybe this is a way we protect ourselves from the shock of unbearably bad news at the moment it happens — and can’t grieve properly until our minds are ready to process it.

How does everyone remember 9/11 and what was your experience of it like?

Driving before dawn on a Sunday morning.

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early_am_driving

There’s something almost otherworldly about driving alone in the wee hours of the morning, just before dawn when the sky is still dark and full of stars. It’s a zen-like experience: the world is silent as it still sleeps, the stores are still dark and locked up for the night, and the highway stretches before you, tapering into a point on the horizon that seems like forever. It’s so quiet you can hear the wheels sing as they progress along on the road. You feel like you’re all alone in the world, but you’re not lonely. There’s just this silence and peaceful solitude, a quiet time to just center yourself and talk to God. It’s a spiritual time; a time to just be.

In about an hour I will be going to sleep. I’m already packed for my 700 mile road trip which will begin at about 4 AM. That’s about three hours before the sky even begins to lighten, since the days are getting noticeably shorter now. By 7 AM, when the sun begins to paint the sky with pink and violet, I’ll already be about 250 miles from here, somewhere near Columbia, South Carolina. Then the world will be waking up and I’ll be thinking about more worldly things, like what I’m going to eat for breakfast–McDonalds or a gas station muffin? I’ll be thinking all about the great time I’m going to have next week and the fun things I will be doing. But I also think this trip is going to prove to be a healing thing for me, a time to reflect, since my son has to work for part of the week and I’ll be spending a lot of time alone by the ocean.

I’ll be taking my laptop with me and posting all about the adventures I have next week, so you’ll still be seeing me around. I’ll probably take a lot of pictures too 🙂

A Covert Narcissist’s Worst Nightmare, by Anonymous.

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I saw this today and thought it was brilliant and creative, so I’m reposting it. I’m pretty sure it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek. 😉

A Covert Narcissist’s Worst Nightmare

By Anonymous.

paranoia

You wake up one day and all the people who once respected and liked you, and gave you supply — supply that gave you esteem and a sense of self — have turned against you, because they found out you were a Narcissist, and now they’ve actually all conspired together, in an attempt to systematically destroy your false-self, because “that’s what’s best for you honey.” Your family ostracizes you. Your work is no longer valued. Any attempt to garner supply from others is met with contempt and slights and ridicule. Now every innocuous glance and comment is an attempt to put you down. Rage just pushes people away, as does snapping and hurting others. Your inwardly-constructed personal reality and persecutory delusions that originally took the blame off yourself, and upheld your false self, begin to falter, and you focus more on your deeply wounded true-self.

So you buy a Ferrari and drive around and associate with your fellow yuppies, trying to look cool and make others think so too, but they just see you as trying too hard, and all your associates stop hanging out with you, because they don’t think you’re worthy anymore. “Mr. Nobody” is your new nickname. Even your attempts to get supply on social media is met with zero likes.

Turning inward to fantasy (violent and grandiose) and narcissistic withdrawal, and numbness, you try to generate supply from the inside, which works for a while, until even that fails. Taking drugs and getting drunk to escape from the nightmare just makes things worse. No matter what you do, you can’t ever get any more supply.

Everyone sees how fake you are, including your friends; they see you are over-exposed and vulnerable. It turns out no one appreciates you anymore, probably because they were all narcs themselves. You try to fight it, but you know it’s the truth. You feel the very essence of who you are break apart — pure ego death — and there is nothing you can do about it. You know that the only way to feel alive is to get gratification from others, and in the end — you can’t get it at all, and suicide seems like the only option. (My note–Please don’t do this if you have NPD and lost all your supply–go get some professional help ASAP!)

But then it turns out it was all just a bad dream, like the ending of “Click”, and you go on living your life the way you always did, using others to pump up your false self, blissfully unaware of your own inadequacies.

Are narc abuse blogs a wake up call for some NPDs?

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empty_mirror_by_dred8667

I’ve sometimes been critical of ACON bloggers who seem trapped in hatred and over-the-top narc-bashing, but that’s because I think of hatred as a dangerous emotion that eventually hurts its bearer (and I think can even turn the victim narcissistic themselves), not because narcissists don’t deserve the vitriol (even though admittedly I have some empathy for ego-dystonic, low-spectrum narcissists, who are pretty rare).

Besides the obvious benefits of such blogs that preach No Contact and have probably saved a lot of victims’ sanity as well as lives, there’s another, unintentional advantage of ACON blogs that harshly call out narcissists and the things they do.

Sometimes I get emails from lower spectrum, ego-dystonic NPD’s who want to change or have been shocked into self-awareness by reading the victim blogs.   I got one such email from a recently diagnosed NPD.   I won’t post the whole thing because it was long, but there was this:

I didn’t even know what NPD was until my diagnosis, but since then I’ve been reading lot about it on some of the victim boards.  Am I really like that?  I hate to think that’s what I’m really like.  I always thought I was a person who cared about others and has lots of empathy, I never thought I was manipulative or god forbid, an abuser.   I don’t know…I think it’s true though.  I don’t know why I couldn’t see these things about myself before.   I always did wonder why people said I was so selfish. Why my relationships always fail. Why I get fired from all my jobs.  Why I can never finish anything.  Why people avoid me.  Why I’m always so angry and depressed.  But I can see why now, kind of.  It’s horrifying.  I never thought I was evil but my readings on these boards have made me realize how badly I treated my friends and my family, and my coworkers, and so many other people.  I hate the idea I treated people like that.  It’s like looking at myself in the mirror for the first time and seeing how ugly I really am.   How was I so deluded?  I am very depressed over this.   I need to get rid of this.  I don’t want to be this way anymore…

I don’t know how many narcissists read the victim blogs, but probably quite a few.  Most narcissists–especially malignant ones–are probably secretly pleased that they have so much power and control over their victims, and that might be why you don’t see many of them fighting against the stigma, the way BPDs do.   Malignant narcs LIKE the stigma because it makes them seem big and bad and dangerous, which is how they want to be seen.

But for narcissists who had no self-awareness before, perhaps reading these blogs is a sort of wake up call, like a mirror being shoved in their face.   Of course, some like what they see and it’s a kind of validation, but a few do not.   The ones who are shocked and dismayed by the image being reflected back at them might even, like the person I quoted above, begin to take steps necessary to change their behaviors.

Am I am empath?

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sad_angel

I’m a little scared to post this, but I’m going to anyway. I’ve never regretted posting anything I’ve felt shy about posting.

Until very recently, I always thought people who say they’re empaths sounded a bit grandiose or even a little narcissistic. I never thought I was an empath, but as some of the toxic thinking patterns I was so trapped in begin to fall away (this is a very slow process!), I find that I’m better able to “see” things I couldn’t see since I was a small child. The “things” I see are what lies behind the facade all of us have to some degree or another, a facade which narcissists have become so effective at building that their real selves are all but obliterated (but they’re not really).

I was very emotional as a child and felt everything around me intensely. My sensitivity made me not only prone to being a target for bullies, but also physically vulnerable: I spent a lot of time sick and I had many allergies.   I had terrible ear infections that left me nearly deaf in my left ear.  The doctors said I was healthy and couldn’t figure out why I was always so sick.

Abused by my narcissistic family and the bullies at school, I gradually learned that it was too dangerous to fully feel my emotions or to connect with people on an emotional, meaningful level. I was made fun of or punished in some way. So I shut myself off from feeling anything but the most banal or self defeating emotions, only those that concerned myself or ensured my survival: fear, anger, jealousy, frustration, boredom, sexual desire, and a pseudo-love known as limerence.  Rarely could I feel true sadness, joy, love, contentment, friendship, connection with God or nature, or caring deeply for another.  I felt like I couldn’t connect with other people meaningfully but was still always quick to take offense to insults. This manifested in unpleasant ways like “going off” on people or losing control.   I often scared people with the intensity of my rages and low frustration tolerance.   Fear–a survival emotion–remained dominant.   My programming told me I needed that fear to survive, but it sure hasn’t made for a pleasant time of things, and made me afraid to take any risks at all.

Worst of all, my heart became closed.  I stopped being able to laugh or cry with abandon or with another person.  I loved the idea of getting close to others and having meaningful relationships, but the reality was just too scary and the relationships I did have were either meaningless and shallow or unhealthy and toxic.   I learned to isolate myself from others and avoid other people because other people meant pain.  I isolated myself not only physically, but by making it difficult for people to be around me.   I couldn’t stick with anything.  I couldn’t finish anything.  I couldn’t achieve anything.     I was afraid to fail because failure meant certain rejection.  This is what my narcissistic family taught me.  This comprises the genesis of my BPD (which I think is finally beginning to fall away).

Five things have led to my ability to begin to let go and to reconnect with the self I lost as a child and young adult, listed in order of their importance to me.

1. My relationship with God
2. Therapy
3. Blogging and writing (self-reflection)
4. Music — it’s incredible how powerful it is!
5. Time spent in nature, including time with animals (they teach us so much)

I won’t describe the means by which these five things are working for me, since I have done that elsewhere and it would turn this post into a book. But what’s beginning to happen is I’m realizing I genuinely care about others. I never thought I did. It wasn’t that I didn’t care before, it was because I was so protective of myself I couldn’t let those feelings of caring be consciously felt. Now when I hear a fellow victim talk about a lifetime of abuse or scapegoating, I feel true empathy for them because I’m more able to allow myself to experience my own pain and process it and that makes it easier to relate to the pain of someone who went through similar trauma. So I can no longer say I’m really empathy challenged. I always had it in me.

Something even more amazing is starting to happen. I’m becoming somehow able to see the lost child in the people I talk to on both my blogs. I may have always had this ability. From the time I was a young child, I could pick up the emotions of others around me. When I picked up my mother’s emotions, she told me to stop “acting spooky.” I think my X-ray vision scared her.

But I couldn’t just throw up a false self and become a narc.  I lacked the right temperament.  It was always so hard for me to hide the way I felt. So I went into hiding instead–emotionally and sometimes physically–becoming a near hermit. I stopped being able to have any deep relationships, even real life friendships. I stopped being able to feel the higher emotions that bring us joy and deep connection with others.  These are symptoms of Avoidant Personality Disorder, which I had/have along with BPD and C-PTSD.

My life became drained of any joy or color. But now, I can see the hurt inner child in others, which is ironic since I still have so much trouble connecting with my own hurt child. This ability to see the real selves in the people who come to my blogs (or post on other blogs) even extends to people with narcissistic personality disorder. When I look at a narc now, I don’t see someone to hate or be terrified of, I see someone who didn’t get enough love and has no idea who they are.  I think of my parents and feel so sad that they spent their lives spiritually asleep instead of awakening to the authentic people they could have been.  But I don’t think they chose narcisissm–no child ever makes such a choice, at least not consciously.

I believe in No Contact. I don’t think any lay person can fix a narcissist and it’s always best to get away for your survival and sanity. But that doesn’t mean things are hopeless for a narcissist, should they sincerely want to connect with their real emotions.  More therapists are needed who have the courage to work with these difficult and often infuriating people. Therapists who can help them realize the potential to love and feel the real emotions they were born with, who can help them break down the strong fortress they have built around themselves to keep everyone out.   This must be done by professionals, and it can take a long time and it won’t be an easy road. I think there must also be a spiritual component, an acceptance that there is something–if not God, then some Intelligence or Presence–that is greater than all of us and is always healing and benevolent. I think the stigma is so bad that therapists either won’t treat them or give up when the going gets rough. Yes, some narcissists will leave. But some won’t, if the therapist is empathic and skilled enough and the narcissist wants change bad enough.

Both narcissism and C-PTSD and other problems caused by abuse all have their roots in childhood trauma. Why only focus on healing for the victims? Narcissistic abuse is a terrible thing. But it will continue as long as there are narcissists walking around allowed to get away with turning people into victims. If we can get to the root of the problem and help the narcissists themselves, then narcissistic abuse will end and there will be no more victims either. It’s analogous to alleviating crime in a city by addressing the problem of poverty that led to it. As long as you ignore poverty, crime will continue and there will always be crime victims.

I seem to have an uncanny ability to see the real, lost self behind a narcissist’s facade. This surprises me, because it seems like a quality an empath would have and I never thought I was one–just a run of the mill HSP.   But through therapy, prayer, being in the natural world, music, and writing, I feel like my heart has opened and with that, a kind of X-ray vision. I’ve actually had self aware and some diagnosed narcissists come to me (mostly on Down The Rabbit Hole) telling me the blog has helped them and they are learning from it, or admitting they want help.  A few have emailed me because they’re too ashamed of their narcissism to post on a public blog.  Right now, all I can do is try to offer encouragement and direct them to other resources. I feel empathy for them, just as I feel empathy for the abuse victims on Lucky Otter’s Haven and here too.   I wish I could help them more than I can right now.

robert_frost_quote

I think I’m being called to something–working with people with NPD (as well as other trauma victims)–that’s going to take a lot of strength and courage and could even be emotionally and spiritually dangerous if I’m not very careful or don’t know exactly what I’m doing. It’s going to take a lot of training, and right now there are a lot of logistical problems (lack of money or time to go back to school; getting older; not liking confrontation and being socially awkward in general). But I feel like God has a plan and some doors will begin to open. I can work on my awkwardness and fear of confrontation in therapy (and these things are a result of low self esteem, not an “introverted” temperament). Working with people with NPD is something very few people dare venture into.  It’s also something a lot of narc-abuse survivors have trouble understanding.  A few even think it’s wrong.   I don’t believe it is.   I’m not ready to do it yet. But I feel like this is the shape my life is taking and the reason why everything happened the way it did. It was the reason for all my suffering.

Born an empath to narcissistic parents, they could not handle my ability to absorb the feelings of those around me and “see through” facades. They worked day and night to disable my gift because they were so afraid of it. But in spite of everything, I still have the gift and I want to use it to help people like my parents, even if my parents rejected the illumination of truth that gift had the power to reveal.

Sometimes I yell at God.

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angry_at_god

I talk to God a lot in my car, driving to and from work.  Sometimes I talk to him at other times too, like when I’m in the shower or cleaning a house.   Lately I’ve been getting in the habit of talking to him first thing upon awakening, even before my morning coffee.  I think this is progress.

I guess you could say what I do is basically prayer, only it seems friendlier to to me think of “prayer” as having a conversation, and that’s what God and I seem to be doing.  Even when it seems to be just a one sided conversation, with me doing all the talking (which it usually is), I just know that God is listening.   And God does provide answers–maybe not right away, and maybe in ways I don’t expect, but my prayers do get acknowledged.

All relationships have their ups and downs, and my relationship with God is no exception.   Sometimes I’m filled with gratitude and have nothing but praise for my Heavenly Therapist; but there are times when I’m mad at him.  I mean, really furious-mad–spitting foam out the corners of your mouth enraged.   When I get that mad, I yell.  I know God can take it.  Humans are more fragile; you can’t just go around screaming in their faces.  Some people do that, but you might get beaten up for doing it.   I know God won’t beat me up if I yell at him, and he won’t send me to hell either.

I used to be afraid to get angry at God.   But I’ve come to know God well enough to know he’s not going to judge me for stating my opinions or even blaming him for the things that have made my life so ridiculously difficult.   Like any loving father, God loves his children unconditionally, no matter how badly we behave.  God knows what’s in our hearts, and yelling at God at least acknowledges I know he’s present and listening.   And so, yelling at God becomes a form of prayer.

I screamed at God again this morning in the car.  I woke up feeling triggered again by issues that were brought to the surface of my consciousness by my dad’s death almost a month ago (has it actually been that long?)   I was feeling sorry for myself, bitter, enraged, sad, guilty, and regretful all at the same time.   But the primary emotion I’ve been feeling is anger (which I know is a flimsy cover for the hurt and pain that lies beneath that).    I wanted to get it off my chest and needed someone to blame, so I blamed God.

screaming_car

“Why did you let an emotionally fragile person like me be born to callous, hardened narcs?”  I screamed at the top of my lungs, making the driver in the next lane stare at me curiously (my windows were rolled down).  “It’s not f__king fair!,” I bellowed, not giving a damn that I dropped the F bomb in the presence of the Almighty.  He was going to hear it from me!

“You are Almighty,” I continued, “you have all the power. You could have made things different, but YOU CHOSE NOT TO!  WHY?  You could have let me be born to people who knew how to love me and wouldn’t abandon me and turn against me later.  Who would have helped me build healthy self esteem, who would always be there for me no matter what.   You could have stopped me from marrying a sociopath narcissist who tried to obliterate me  and almost turned my kids against me too!  You could have let me develop enough confidence to be successful at something in this world and take a few risks instead of being a little pussy too afraid to come out of my box.   But, NOOOOOOO,” I screamed sarcastically like the late John Belushi.  “You let me suffer instead!  You let everyone keep victimizing me even though YOU COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT IT!  WHY? WHY? For the love of God (yeah, that’s you–OWN IT!), WHY??? (this said banging my fists on the dashboard after each “WHY?”). Why do you keep letting me struggle to survive, live paycheck to paycheck, even though I work and work and work and work until I feel like I’m going to die?  And then get looked down on by my own family for not being as successful as them!  Why does everyone else get all the breaks in life and I never do?  I don’t have ANY advantages, NONE!  I don’t have financial security, own my own home, I don’t have a supportive family, I don’t have a large circle of friends to stand in for family because I lack the confidence to reach out to anyone!  I have no self confidence, I have no husband or lover, I’m all ALONE in the world, ALONE!  DO YOU HEAR ME? Dammit.  I can’t get close to ANYONE!   And I’m SICK of it!  You let people who do NOTHING throughout their whole lives, who had everything come easy to them, who haven’t suffered more than a chipped fingernail, people  who never lift a finger for anyone else, EVER, who ABUSE others, then they get rewarded even more than they already are? WHY? WHY? WHY?  HOW IS THAT FAIR?  I DEMAND an answer.  Dammit, I am MAD.  What did I do to deserve this, God?  WHAT? Nothing, that’s what!  Sometimes I think you hate me!  Sometimes I wonder why you let me even be born–it would have been better if I was aborted because the pain would only be for a minute or maybe not at all and not for a whole f__king lifetime!  WHY, GOD, WHY? I DEMAND ANSWERS!”

After one of these rants, I’ll feel a bit better–exhausted and a little out of breath, but kind of relieved and relaxed too.    Sheepishly, I’ll apologize for my outburst, and ask God to forgive me.

What I imagine then is a bemused smile on God’s face, for he is all forgiving and doesn’t hold grudges.   I think he’s glad I turn to him in my moments of need, angry or not.  He isn’t going to judge me by my moods or emotions.   Ever so gently and quietly, he reminds me that adversity breeds wisdom and God has given me a difficult path because he has something planned for me that requires that particular kind of training–not because he hates my guts and wants me to suffer.   Finally, in his patient and gentle way, he’ll remind me of all the things I do have to be grateful for right now, that my life is really much more blessed than it seemed 5 minutes ago when I was ranting like a banshee from hell.

****

Antidote to this post:
Changes

A question that probably has no answer.

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Belle-in-Beauty-and-the-Beast-disney-princess-25447780-1280-720
Beast transforming; Belle watches in astonishment/credit Disney Pictures 1991

I’m following a blog where the writer, who is a diagnosed NPD in therapy (I am not going to link the blog here), has been showing signs recently of his hard shell beginning to crack and unfamiliar emotions starting to break through his formerly impenetrable emotional wall.

It’s been happening over time, and in fits and starts. His last post expresses quite a lot of vulnerability and sadness for his lost self and the hurt he felt as a child. It made me feel like weeping, but in the good kind of way. If this blogger is being candid and honest, then his unfolding is a beautiful, painful, magnificent thing to behold.

But earlier posts by this writer have described the way he feeds off the emotional reactions of other people (the way all narcissists do). Whether the reactions are positive or negative don’t really matter; it’s the fact they are emotional reactions to him that feed him. The blogger also happens to be an extremely skilled writer. I could easily believe he may be merely manipulating his readers (many who are empaths) into falling for the epic drama of the Big Bad Narc transforming into a man with the ability to love and feel like a normal person. It’s the stuff of Hollywood. It would make a great 10-Kleenex movie.  He no doubt knows the effect such a thing would have; he could use his skill with the English language to write breathtaking, transformative passages and become the star of his own tear-jerker movie.

I must have watched the ending of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast at least 20 times, and it still has the ability to make me sob like a little child.   It’s basically the story of a narcissist being healed by the love of another person, all dressed up in period costume and fairy dust and magic, and rendered suitable for children.   I can’t get enough of that damn sappy ending.  But I think that, for me, it’s symbolic of something much deeper going on.

Maybe I’m being (in Sam Vaknin’s words) a malignant optimist, or maybe I’m just a gullible fool, but I really, really want to believe the blogger isn’t manipulating his readers for narcissistic supply. I want to believe what he says he’s feeling is actually real. Nothing would move my soul more than witnessing a narcissist actually healing from his disorder. I’m a starry-eyed romantic INFJ and love this kind of stuff. I need to see that movie and believe it’s true. Maybe my obsession with narcissists being able to open their hearts again has to do with having narcissistic parents and having wanted so much to see it happen for them, but alas, my dreams were dashed.

Is there a way to know if this writer is telling the truth or just putting on an elaborate show for his readers in order to garner supply for himself? I suppose this is a rhetorical question since obviously no one can answer that. Only the narcissist himself can answer that, but there’s no way to know if his answer would be the truth or not.

****

Further Reading:

Beauty and the Beast: A Metaphor for NPD

I suffered narcissistic injury today and I’m not even a narcissist.

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old_lady

I’ve always taken pride in my youthful appearance. In spite of my age (I’m in my mid-50’s) most people think I’m in my 40’s or sometimes even in my late 30’s. I’ve never had a facelift or any cosmetic surgery. I don’t have a lot of gray hair.  I’m in pretty good shape for my age too. Sometimes I even still get carded (although I do realize they’re carding everyone now). I still sometimes get looks from the opposite sex. The other day I was flattered when a construction worker was staring at me and said, “Hey, pretty lady!” When I was in my 20’s that kind of attention made me ragey.   Now I love it because it doesn’t happen that often.

Today I worked with a new employee. We were driving in silence because I really didn’t feel like talking that much. I have a lot on my mind. I suppose she was uncomfortable with the silence and trying to make conversation, so here was her icebreaker:

“Why aren’t you retired yet?”

HUH?

I was at a complete loss for words. I was never so insulted. No one has ever said anything like that to me before. I worried. Have I suddenly become old looking in the last year or two? I don’t look like a spring chicken, but I certainly don’t think I look like I’m ready to retire either. What happened to the old etiquette, when if you were “of a certain age,” people politely didn’t ask you about it?

“I’m ten years away from retirement,” I spat. Yeah, I was mad. How dare she ask me something like that.

She stared at me. She wasn’t done with me. “You look like you used to party a lot,” she continued. “I bet you did, drinking and smoking weed with all those hippies at Woodstock back in the day.”

“I WASN’T A HIPPIE! I WAS 9 YEARS OLD WHEN WOODSTOCK HAPPENED!”

“Well, you look like you partied a lot. You look like you still party a lot.”

What the hell was THAT supposed to mean?

I was glad when the day was over and I was rid of this rude person. I’ve been stewing over what she said all day. When I got home, I asked my daughter to tell me HONESTLY how old she thought I looked. She said 42. When I told her what happened, she just laughed.

I guess I’m narcissistic about SOME things. I think everyone is. I decided to write about it because after all, it is pretty funny.

Gone forever.

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wrecking_ball

In the late ’70’s, for about one year, I lived in a group residence for troubled teenagers or teenagers who could not live at home for a variety of reasons.  The building it was housed in was an architectural standout even if it didn’t date very well, and won a couple of awards for architecture in its time.  (I’d post a photo because there is one on Google images, but I don’t want to give away too much information so I won’t do it).

One of my weird geeky hobbies is taking “virtual road trips” using Google maps.  I decided to “visit” the old ‘hood, and the address  typed in took me to a building I have never seen before.   I thought I made a mistake, but nope, the address was the right one.  I did some further sleuthing and found out the building was demolished in 2003 because the enterprise that bought out the address didn’t think the building suited their needs.   The residence center closed shortly before the demolition.  I had no idea this happened until about an hour ago.    I was gobsmacked by how grief stricken I felt–over a building I lived in for one year in the late 1970’s that has been gone for 13 years.   I actually had some great memories of that place and felt that it helped me.  I had a great counselor there.  I fell head over heels in love with a boy who lived there the same time I did.   We were both kicked out and sent back home because of “PC” (physical contact) on the premises.  I found out several years back that he died sometime in the late ’90s.  Life marches on, things change, or even disappear, and then they are forgotten.     Life is full of fleeting moments like that.  Someday in the not too distant future, even my memories will be lost.

Down The Rabbit Hole blog.

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I know some of you have been wondering why you cannot access my other blog, Down The Rabbit Hole.  It’s still there, but due to some trolling, I was forced to set it to private for the time being.  I hope to make it public again soon but am not quite at that point yet.  Right now it’s accessible by invitation only.    You can request an invitation by clicking on this link.

https://downtherabbitholeblog.org/

Please keep in mind I cannot grant a request if I do not know who you are.    Hopefully this matter will be resolved soon and the blog will be public again.  You are free to contact me in private also (via my email) if I did not grant your request.

Thank you in advance for your understanding and patience.