Since learning about narcissistic personality disorder, the journey I’ve taken has been enlightening, painful, and freeing.
I’ve written about how your comments and emails touch me. Also, I’m happy that I might have touched people and made them feel less alone.
And that is true.
Except it doesn’t always feel completely true. I mean, I’m certainly not unhappy that people have found enlightenment and comfort from my discoveries, but…does it really matter that much to me?
I don’t trust my feelings and I have a difficult time feeling anything deep. It doesn’t mean that I don’t, it just means that it’s hard. It’s possible I’m a little guarded.
Perhaps not a little.
I had a horrific, anxiety filled afternoon Friday; more so than a usual day at work. That evening as I sat in front of a fire on my deck, I nursed sore back and ribs due to the overwhelming stress. Every tense midsection muscle ached.
Just before I got to the exit to get back to work after lunch, traffic on the expressway came to a standstill. I texted Priscilla, Queen of the Cubicle to ask her if she could check online for accidents in the area. She texted back and said that they were reporting an ‘unusual incident’.
I didn’t like the fucking sound of ‘unusual incident’ as I moved at a snail’s pace. When I got up to the exit, I saw that a cop had his cruiser across the expressway and there were cops standing on the road, blocking all traffic. I was just thinking ‘fuckity fuck, they don’t do that for accidents’, when Priscilla texted and said, ‘Lock your doors and get back here. There’s a shooting incident and the SWAT team has been called’.
No more than 10 minutes after that text, I made it back to our parking lot, but y’all, those were a long 10 minutes.
Then, when I got out of my car, I heard gun fire. I did that combination fast walk/run into the building because if there is anyone who is going to fucking catch a stray bullet, it’s going to be me.
The story behind the shooting is horrific. A man abducted a 34 year old woman, but not before killing her 17 year old son. The police were chasing him and he stopped on I-75 and shot and killed the woman before shooting himself in the head. He didn’t die. I heard it happen. That is so fucked up.
I didn’t want to work the rest of the day. I just wanted to get home.
When I did get home, I read this comment that someone left on my last narcissism blog post. The blog post included a poem that a reader had written.
Michelle, this…spoke to my heart. I’ve been reading your stuff, pondering about this idea of being a child of a narcissist and just wondering. I see myself as passionless and without identity, I’ve studied psychology, philosophy, theology I think in an attempt to figure me out…and I think the slow dawning (with your snark and grace) is that this is what explains me the most. Such a beautifully haunting and insightful poem, it really nailed some stuff for me. Thanks. Respect REDdog
I have been trying to live my life from a place of truth. I try to be genuine and honest and I am finding that is a peaceful realm to live in. Sure, there are moments of discomfort, but overall, it’s more comfortable. Except I don’t completely trust that. Part of me believes that I am not living in a place of truth, but that this is just a new mask. It’s a new mask that hides my unwillingness to discover what is underneath the facade. Am I living a mostly truthful life? I have spent so many years not trusting my own feelings.
I read Red’s comment and I wondered again if I cared, I mean as much as I profess to care about the people who have been touched by what I write about narcissism. I thought about that poor woman who lost her son and then her life.
Do I care?
You bet your goddamn ass I do.
I am so inspired and touched and grateful for all of your stories. I am beyond honored if I’ve touched any of you and I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for supporting me and listening to me figure this bullshit out over the past year.
That is all.