Grumpy old men: narcissists in old age.

Now I just think “Donald Trump.” I get irritated at the mainstream media that keeps looking for his nonexistent empathy, and keeps speculating that the smallest “nice” thing he does means he is changing. All it means he is appeasing his base/donors or he has been ordered to act that way. Giving him a gold star for just doing his job (which is hardly ever) only enables him. Donald Trump is incapable of changing and proves it daily. He doesn’t even have the self-awareness to realize he is a pathological narcissist, as someone like Sam Vaknin was able to do. Without that, there is no hope for change at all — especially not at age 71.

Lucky Otters Haven


It’s been said narcissists grow worse with age. As they lose their looks and mental acuity and become less sexually desirable and more unemployable, they lose the ability to attract the supply they need to feel like they exist. Most will fall into deep depression and a few might even commit suicide. Growing old and having to confront one’s own mortality is the ultimate narcissistic injury. The only thing they have left to obtain supply is their advanced age itself.

Some will become the stereotypical “get off my lawn” grouchy old man or woman, demanding their entitlements (or what they think are their entitlements) be met, no matter how unreasonable. They don’t bother with “charm.” They don’t even try to hide their self-centeredness or contempt for others anymore or make any attempt to be “nice.” They’ve given up playing the games they used to attain supply when they had their…

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Thanks to Neurofeedback, I’m not just getting older, I’m getting happier and healthier!

This is just begging to be reblogged. I’m so happy for your progress, Lynda Lee!

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A Blog About Surviving Trauma


The lyrics to an old Beatles song have been dancing around in my head lately:
– – –
When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a Valentine
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine
If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four
– – –

Sixty-four! That sounds OLD, doesn’t it? Especially for someone whose generational mantra was “Never trust anyone over thirty”!

Like everyone else on this planet, I started out as a very young person. I was little, and I could not wait to be big. The years passed slowly by, and I slowly grew, and then YAY!! I was all grown up, a bona fide adult. I had finally ARRIVED!!

But the years did not stop going by. Indeed, they started…

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Daily Inspiration: A Beautiful Friendship


This gallery contains 6 photos.

Even with all the horrible things going on, there are still good people in the world who know the meaning of friendship and can show compassion. If everyone emulated Chris Salvatore’s behavior, the world would be a much kinder place. … Continue reading

Sometimes I miss him.


My ex husband was and is a malignant narcissist who actually has an NPD/ASPD (and Bipolar) diagnosis.  He almost destroyed me and my sanity with his constant gaslighting, verbal abuse, projection, lies, insults, mean sarcasm, threats, and refusal to lift a finger around the house or even work for the last few years we were together. He stole from me, ran up my credit cards (ruining my credit rating, which sucks to this day), tried (and almost succeeded) in turning our two children against me, invaded by boundaries, and once even threatened me with murder-suicide after I threatened to leave.  He still badmouths me to everyone he can, telling them how crazy and stupid I am (even though to my face, he always called me the most intelligent person he’d ever known). .

And yet, and yet….


Sometimes I miss him.

I miss the way sometimes he could be so sweet and loving (usually when he wanted something).  I miss our long, intellectual conversations about politics, science, God, the universe, art, music, movies, and everything else under the sun.   I miss having a companion who would accompany me no matter what I was doing.   I miss having someone to spend the holidays with.   I even sometimes miss his unfunny jokes (which were often directed against me).

He had a few genuinely nice qualities.  His intelligence made him an interesting conversation partner.  He also loved animals and loved to cook.  I miss his cooking (even though he always overseasoned everything).  But these things weren’t enough to make me want to stay with someone who was so abusive to me and our kids.

I guess what I really miss isn’t him at all, but just that I miss being part of a couple, because I was absolutely miserable almost every moment I spent with him.  I know I will never go back, and have no love left for him, but I do pray for him and don’t hate him, in spite of the evil, horrible things he did to me when we were married and for the several years after the divorce that we stayed together.

I look around and practically everyone of my age is part of a couple. If they aren’t part of a couple, they have extended family or a large circle of close friends, or a fulfilling career.  I have none of those things.  I don’t wallow in self pity over that, but these are the facts.   I am fortunate to have a good relationship with my grown children.   I am fortunate to be fairly healthy and employed.  I don’t hate my life, exactly, but I am lonely.

Although I look young for my age, and am in fairly good shape, I don’t look THAT young.   I feel old, way too old to attract a mate.   I’m self conscious about my rather advanced age, and the toll it’s beginning to take on my appearance.  I wish I could turn back the clock, but I can’t.


The idea of starting over again, with someone new, is just too daunting, and frankly, way too scary.   I still have too many issues connecting with real life people because of the trauma I suffered.  I have no idea where I’d meet someone.   I hear the online dating services can be quite predatory and I don’t want to spend the little money I have on something like that anyway.

I’ve also become set in my ways.  I’m way too selfish to want to change my lifestyle or compromise that in order to adapt to someone else.   I don’t know if I could do that now.  I like my time by myself, doing what I like to do, thinking my own thoughts, not having to take someone else’s wishes or wants or needs into account.   I have cats instead, so I guess that makes me one of those crazy cat ladies.  Well, so be it then.

At the end of the day, I think I just prefer to remain alone.   I’m really not interested in dating, I just sometimes wish I had the companionship that other women my age seem to all have.    I wish there was another person I was growing old with so I wouldn’t have to die alone.

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



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?”


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.”


“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.

Grumpy old men: narcissists in old age.


It’s been said narcissists grow worse with age. As they lose their looks and mental acuity and become less sexually desirable and more unemployable, they lose the ability to attract the supply they need to feel like they exist. Most will fall into deep depression and a few might even commit suicide. Growing old and having to confront one’s own mortality is the ultimate narcissistic injury. The only thing they have left to obtain supply is their advanced age itself.

Some will become the stereotypical “get off my lawn” grouchy old man or woman, demanding their entitlements (or what they think are their entitlements) be met, no matter how unreasonable. They don’t bother with “charm.” They don’t even try to hide their self-centeredness or contempt for others anymore or make any attempt to be “nice.” They’ve given up playing the games they used to attain supply when they had their youth, looks, and health. They know they have nothing they can use anymore to attract respect, admiration, adulation, and attention, so they just demand and yell and cuss and bully other people to get it, using their age as an excuse to be mean.


These are people who reach the age of 70, 80 and 90 and are still emotional 3-year-olds. They are filled with hate for the world and for what has been done to them to make them that way (unresolved childhood trauma), for what they have become, and regret for what they never could be. They project their self-hatred onto anyone who crosses their path.

I read this description of what one old narcissist was like. It’s sad but all too true. I’ve known people like this. I see my ex becoming one.

I’ve seen old narcissists. I used to see a 72’ish guy at the grocery store. It was awful. He would angrily force himself to the front of the line. Each person he pushed in front of and angrily exclaimed “I only have 3 things” was as much a source of supply as the supply I would extort through more elegant means. He was down to the point of just taking it. The more people acted startled and offended, but withheld their protests due to his age and frailty, the more he felt he existed.

He would reach the cashier and then insist that the price is wrong, putting the cashier in the position of holding up all those kind folks he cut in front of. It’s not his fault they’re being inconvenienced. Then he’d demand a new “shopper/loyalty card” to get the discounts — why saying “I don’t want it, throw it away.” Too important to be bothered with carrying a card like everyone else. Probably some long-held criticism that stores should just charge the same price for everything and not do the “member price” gimmick. Something he could criticize in the past, now something he could incorporate into his bitter existence.

He would then contemptuously instruct the cashier to take the coins from his hand because his fingers are knurled from arthritis. Projecting onto the cashier his own contempt for his body failing his grandiosity. As he walked away, he would throw his receipt on the floor as if he had been intentionally offended by receiving it.

Raw nerve.


Over the past few days I have been extremely anxious, even panicky. I can’t focus enough to write anything or do much of anything else either. I really have no idea why or what might have triggered it.

Last night instead of writing anything, I poked around on nostalgia sites, reminiscing about the things of my childhood, particularly the snack food. My childhood was terrible, but I have fond memories of the various sugary and salty foods I ate (why in %$#& did Buitoni ever stop making those awful but delicious toaster pizzas? Where’s a chalky, non-chewy Giant Sweet-Tart when you need one?) and the toys I played with (those over 45 or 50 or so will remember that Fuzzy Wuzzy soap that grew “hair” just like a Chia pet and had a small but high quality prize inside). These memories bring me a measure of comfort. Things seemed so much simpler before everything started going to hell about 30 years ago and hearts began to harden and greed became good because a movie character named Gordon Gecko said so. Life has just become way too complicated and stressful for someone like me (although I couldn’t live without the Internet, which for someone like me is the best thing that could ever have happened).

Sometimes I feel like I just can’t cope anymore. I’m so tired. I’m getting old. I have too many unresolved psychological issues. I worry about the future constantly. I have a pervasive feeling of nameless dread, as if something terrible is about to happen.

I don’t know where these feelings come from or what might have triggered them, but I feel like a raw nerve and even at work have been jumpy, quick to take offense to everything, and paranoid. I have too many disorders to function well at a job for any length of time, especially when it comes to dealing with others. Sometimes I just wish I could go off by myself and live as a hermit, never having to deal with anyone, but for that you need money and I have no money. I’m caught in a no-win situation.

The job might be part of the problem. I’m burned out; I hate my job. There. I said it. I hate the politics at work, and the favoritism. I’m not a favorite. I have never been a favorite at any job. I can’t play the game; I have never been able to play the game. I wish I didn’t have to work, or could just write and make a living that way. But I can’t, not yet anyway. I don’t want to look for a new job because I know it will be as crappy as the one I have, that I’ll still be forced to deal with people I dislike and who dislike me just as much. I’ll still feel like the odd one out, the employee who is most expendable and always overlooked. I’m so ill suited for the service industry but I can’t get my foot in the door for anything else. I burned all my bridges a long time ago, and now I’m well past 50 and it’s too late to start over in an employment situation or going back to school. My only hope left is to become a professional writer.

The DBT and self-soothing tools I normally use to focus and center are not working. My thoughts are racing and my hands are shaking. My sleep has been fitful. Maybe it’s the heat but I think it’s more than that. I feel like my head will explode. I don’t know what’s really going on with me right now. I need to find a good therapist. I need to be in a relationship but am too scared. I need to write more.

One thing that might be contributing to my high anxiety is caffeine. I’m addicted to coffee. I’m craving some right now, but I don’t think I should make any. I might have to cut down on my favorite beverage–a prospect which itself causes me anxiety.

I spend most of my free time holed up inside the house on this laptop, which is fine when I’m actually being productive, but last night all I did was poke around on random nostalgia sites and Facebook and wrote absolutely nothing. And then felt guilty about it.

I know what I need to do is go out, do something outside the house, get off the computer, but I don’t have the motivation.

Finally I got the idea to just write about my panic-stricken state. After all, this blog was intended to be my therapy, so what have I got to lose?

2015 is already half over!


Time really does seem to fly by faster the older you get. It seems like this year just started but according to my WordPress clock (it’s 4 hours off and I don’t know how to fix it) it’s already July 1, which means we are six months into 2015. In six more months it will be 2016. Where did a whole half a year go?

Wow. I really am old.

Have you ever been hit by an intense blast of nostalgia that almost knocks the wind out of you?

On the radio today I heard this Europop song for the first time since late 1983/early 1984 and was overcome by that sweet sadness that comes from realizing just how many years have elapsed. I was very young then; now I’m bordering on old. Wiser and more stable but more cautious and world-weary. I had no children; now I have adult children. I worried less, acted out more. I’m happier today than I was then, or at least more content. But I can’t help wishing I could go back sometimes, if only to do everything over the way it should have been done.

This song haunts me. I remembered it immediately but never knew who did it. I typed the lyrics in my browser and was able to find out who the artist was. We have the miracle of the Internet now; in 1983 doing such a thing would have seemed like science fiction.

Anyway, it’s a very cool tune. Enjoy!

Serious question.


Sometimes when I remember a time in the distant past when I was remembering something even longer ago, I wonder if I remembered more about it then than I do now. Like, when you’re 14 and remember when you were 4, are your memories of being 4 clearer then than when you remember being 4 in your 50’s? Do we lose the details of our long-term memories as we age? I wonder about that.