Why I Love Dogs August 17, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Pets.Tags: Dog Intelligence, Dogs, Dogs as Companions, Dogs as Smart as Toddlers, Health, Humor, Oxytocin, Pets
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Mario's dog Spaghetti belts out a tune
My dogs keep me sane. Just when I’m taking myself or the world way too seriously, our two mutts Petey and Reese engage in their nightly wrestling match that is every bit as entertaining as Lucha Libre. Same thing every night, and every night I laugh hysterically. Every morning Reese sits just inside the dog door so our pig Maisie can’t come in the house. Then later in the day, Maisie lounges in front of the dog door so the dogs can’t go out. It’s like having toddlers again.
The pig thinks she is a dog and lines up with them for a treat. We refer to them as The Three Amigos. Petey, who we believe is half coyote, is the hunter. His prize catch is a sock, which he carries proudly around the house. Thank god dogs threw their lot in with humans, or Petey would have starved to death in the wild.
I recently read two interesting articles on dogs. MSNBC featured an article Dogs are Smarter Than Toddlers. Neither of my dogs would qualify for Mensa as they’re blissfully happy to be canine underachievers.
Pet Dogs Rival Humans for Emotional Satisfaction in New Scientist is also a good read. Researchers found that after playing with their dogs, people showed an increase in oxytocin, known as the “cuddle chemical.” I could have saved those researchers a big wad of cash and told them that up front. Nothing helps put the problems of the world in perspective like a good game of fetch.
My father-in-law’s dog, Penny, recently died after a long happy dog life. He so misses her company that he’s taken to walking his neighbor’s dog every night. Our friend Mario, who’s an opera singer, took the picture of his dog Spaghetti who loved to sit alongside him at the piano and play and sing. Spaghetti has since gone to doggie heaven. Spaghetti’s successor Linguini is no musical prodigy, but more importantly, he’s a dog.
Swine Flu in a Classroom Near You August 9, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Health, Teaching.Tags: Education, Health, Humor, Pigs, Preparing for the Swine Flu, Swine Flu, Swine Flu and Schools, Swine Flu in the classroom, Swine Flu Precautions, Teaching
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I’ve read three articles in as many days advising schools how to handle an outbreak of the swine flu. I had my pig Maisie do some research, and she’s reported back with her findings: Although it might not be on your initial class roster, it seems the swine flu is set to enter your classroom this fall.
Federal officials at the Center for Disease Control (CDC) are recommending that schools be closed as a last resort. The New York Times has all the news that’s fit to print, so if you want to check out more stats, acronyms, and some recommendations, click on that link. You can also check out flu.gov.
Fortunately, the initial panic about the swine flue as a pandemic that could potentially kill millions has subsided. But the swine flu is still no laughing matter. Over one million Americans have been infected so far. If you’re a teacher, you’re already accustomed to being on the front lines. Or should I say the first in line to get “what’s going round.” Children have an uncanny ability to sneeze, cough, hack, spew, vomit… Okay, I could go on, but you get the picture. To date, the flu aka H1N1 has been mild and has not mutated – yet. (Cue scary music.)
I, for one, am marshaling all my resources. All teachers are issued a first-aid kit at the start of the year. The first year I kept looking for this “kit.” I finally realized it’s a Ziploc bag containing a pair of latex gloves, some band-aids, and a few cotton balls thrown in for good measure.
The CDC suggested that schools might want to issue masks to personnel. Sounds good, but I’d settle for kleenex. Last year, my students were reduced to blowing their noses on art tissue paper. Hey, it works. But when I tore off a piece of bright green tissue paper and handed it to my new student from Korea, I was shocked when I saw the dye had rubbed off on his upper lip. He had a bright green Charlie Chaplin mustache that wouldn’t wash off. So, kleenex would be good.
It was also suggested that teachers could move students’ desks father apart. Now, my students don’t have individual desks. They sit at tables for two, and now that my class size has been upped from 20 to 24, I’m still trying to figure out where to put THOSE kids. My cup may runneth over, but the space in my classroom does not. The CDC recommends that schools might want to offer web-based instruction for students out sick. Can you hear me laughing hysterically?
One final note. My pig Maisie wanted to make sure I mentioned the CDC said “People cannot become infected by eating pork or pork products. Cooking pork to an internal temperature of 160 degrees Farenheit kills the virus as well as other bacteria.” Maisie doesn’t actually recommend EVER cooking pork.
She also wants you to know she’s never been sick a day in her life. Okay, there was that time she ate five pounds of butter set aside for Christmas baking. But that would upset your tummy too. On a more positive note, Maisie smelled like a butter cookie for a week.
Bad Guys Really Do Get the Most Girls August 2, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Affairs, Anti-Social Personality Disorder, Bad boys, Dark Triad, Health, Latent Homosexual, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, NPD, Personality Disorders, Psychopathy, Relationships, Serial Cheating, Somatic Narcissists
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After I’d written a recent post on Narcissistic Personality Disorder, a friend commented, “I see you’re still into NPD.” It’s not so much that I’m “into” it, as I’m “onto” it. I have clarity now about this insidious personality disorder and want to help others. If you’re a new reader, do not proceed without reading my 3-part series Close Encounter with a Narcissist first. It will bring you up to speed so you don’t need subtitles.
All of the narcissists I’ve seen up close and personal were cerebral, so when readers ask about somatic narcissists, it’s like asking my dog what it’s like to be a cat. That said, I have friends who’ve been there, done that, and they’ve got stories to tell.
In my opinion, somatic narcissists are quicker to show up on the radar. They’re serial cheaters, always looking for another sexual conquest to keep them high on new Narcissistic Supply (NS). It doesn’t matter if they’re married or in a relationship. It doesn’t matter if YOU are married or in a relationship. They seek sex as validation that the False Self they’ve constructed is, in fact, real. They offer no genuine apologies when they’re caught. Their lack of remorse should be a major Red Flag.
Women have described that often after sex, they felt like they might as well have been a blow up doll. Although all male narcissists prefer autoerotic sex (masturbation and porn) to sex with a real woman, sometimes they manage to have sex with someone/something with a pulse. Pity that person. (If you’re dealing with a woman with NPD, I suggest you check out A Shrink for Men on my blogroll.)
This is in sharp contrast to cerebral narcissists, who can be extremely flirtatious, but quickly lose all interest in sex. It is through witholding sex from their partner that they maintain control. Because they’re essentially asexual, this is no problem for them. My sister-in-law was married to one for 15 years and swore she could count how many times they’d had sex by counting her children. Eight, for the record. At one point, she thought quite possibly her husband was gay because of his lack of interest in sex. Numerous other women have written and asked whether a man with NPD might actually be a latent homosexual. Maybe, but probably not. They’re just not that into women – real ones that is.
I have a married friend who had a brief affair with a man she later realized was a somatic narcissist. He pursued her relentlessly, and then… He was on to the next best thing. She referred me to an article in the New Scientist entitled Bad Guys Really Do Get the Most Girls. It was the first time I’d ever heard of the “dark triad” of personality traits, which includes narcissism. Machiavellianism, another one of the traits, is anti-social personality disorder by another name. Think: The Bermuda Triangle in human form. And you don’t want to go there.
The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #3 July 19, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Health, Ideal Love, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, NPD, Relationships
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In this series, I’m using a “search term” I’ve come across as a jumping off point for a discussion. (Please read my Close Encounter with a Narcissist series first, or it’s like walking in after the movie’s started. Shhhh!) Here goes.
“What Is Ideal Love to a Narcissist?”
The DSM IV lists nine behaviors that characterize Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). At least five must be evident to make a diagnosis of NPD. Let’s look at the second behavior.
2. Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love.
Just what is “ideal love?” to a Narcissist? I’m afraid, I have to use the F word to explain. No, not THAT word. To a Narcissist, the F word is fantasy.
Actually, I often think that Narcissists are obsessed not with “ideal love,” but with the “idea of love.” Despite the common misconception that Narcissists are “in love” with themselves, they actually despise themselves and are incapable of feeling real love.
I’ve said before that what a Narcissist loves most is the chase. The Narcissist confuses the excitement of honing in on new Narcissistic Supply (NS) with the emotion we humans call “love.” I’m afraid this Idealization Phase is as good as it gets.
So what happens when a Narcissist actually “catches” the object of his desire? When the ideal becomes real, you better be careful not to blink, or you might suffer emotional whiplash. Let me explain.
Outside the town where I grew up, there was a dog racing track. At the sound of the bell, a line of mechanical rabbits took off and the greyhounds chased them. If a dog ever caught the “rabbit,” its racing days were over. That’s because once the dog knew the rabbits were fake, it would no longer run after them.
What does this have to do with NPD?
Just like the dogs, when a Narcissist finally catches who he’s been pursuing, he quickly loses all interest. But here’s where it gets interesting. It’s not because what he’s been chasing is fake, but because it’s REAL.
Let’s face it, real relationships involve who’s cooking dinner (and doing the dishes), which bills should be paid (or go unpaid), root canals, and trips to the urologist. This is not the unique life the Narcissist envisioned. So what if he’s two hours late and didn’t call. Geez, you’re so demanding! Reality can’t compete with a fantasy, so the Narcissist immediately begins chipping away at that pedestal he put you on. The D&D is underway.
Unlike those greyhounds, the Narcissist never learns. He truly believes he can run that race again and next time (or the next, or the next) things will turn out just the way he imagined. Yes, it’s sad, because we already know how the story will end – Badly. But for those with NPD, it’s in their nature and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to change that.
The rest of us know that “ideal love” exists only in fairy tales. We’re happy to settle for real love.
The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #1-3 are in Categories under Narcissistic Personality Disorder or Tags.
The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #2 July 12, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Apologies, Health, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, NPD, Personality Disorders, Relationships
8 comments
In this series, I’m using a “search term” I’ve come across as a jumping off point for a discussion. (Please read my Close Encounter with a Narcissist series first, or it’s like walking in after the movie’s started. Shhhh!) Here goes.
Will a Narcissist Ever Apologize?
For what? You have to remember that a Narcissist is convinced he/she is always right and the problem lies with YOU. When someone apologizes, it’s an admission of wrong doing, and Narcissists are NEVER wrong.
Okay, they might manage an insincere apology if it will placate someone who’s a higher up (to save their job), or someone they fear, but mere mortals need not apply. Even when the Narcissist is clearly in the wrong, they are loathe to admit their culpability. If they are caught red-handed, they will deny that they have hands, or tell you their hands are in fact orange, not red.
Case in point. My friend “Joe” regaled me with stories about how he’d flown kites as a child in boarding school. I happened to be reading The Kite Runner and, low and behold, there was a description about how the boys coated the kite string with broken glass, just as Joe had described. Excited, I brought in my copy of The Kite Runner so he could read the passage. ”See, this was just like I was telling you,” he beamed.
A few weeks later, I bought him a copy of the book and handed it to him. See if you can guess who’s talking.
“How much did this cost?”
“It’s a paperback. What does it matter?”
“But, how much did it cost?”
“Fourteen dollars.”
End of conversation.
Four months later, I ran into Joe. He said he noticed how I’d ”pulled away from him.” Duh. I reminded him that when I’d given him the book, he’d never bothered to say thank you. Again, see if you can tell who’s talking.
“I’m sure I said thank you.”
“No, you never said thank you.”
“I find that impossible to believe. When someone gives me a gift, I always say thank you.”
“Well, you never said thank you.”
End of conversation.
If you’ve been close to someone with NPD, you have your own variation of this story. If it’s any consolation, you’re not crazy. They are. Thank you. I’m sorry. Who would have know how hard it was to say two words.
The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #1-3 are in Categories under Narcissistic Personality Disorder or Tags.
Playground Posse June 22, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Teaching.Tags: Education, Health, Hot Cheetos, Humor, Junk Food, Teaching, The Playground, Third Grade, Yard Duty
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As a “highly qualified teacher” it’s only fitting that I’m expected to do Yard Duty for 15 minutes twice a week. (Andy Warhol had the math wrong – It’s 15 minutes of fame 2 times a week for an entire school year!) This job is just too important to be left to amateurs, although my posse includes minimum wage employees.
This year we got to “choose” the days we wanted had to do yard duty along with the times. I signed up to do the “before school” shift, not because I’m an early morning person, but to get it out of the way.
I lucked out and got assigned to the climber and back basketball court. Whew! I managed to dodge the most dreaded of all Yard Duty assignments – Supervising the restrooms. That’s where the real action is. But assignments change each year, so I’m not counting my chickens.
When I’m on yard duty, I’m basically back on Sixth Grade Safety Patrol. Throw in a little Mall Cop and the LAPD’s “to protect and to serve” motto. You get the picture. A lot of school districts hire people just do to Yard Duty aka Playground Supervision, but not my district. This is not a job that just anyone can do.
Case in point. When my husband was in art school, he got a lunchtime job working as a Playground Aide at the local public school. He was fired after two weeks when he kicked a kid in the butt, after the kid spit on him. Unlike my husband, I take pride in my ability to maintain a cool demeanor when spittle is dribbling down my face. A police officer once told me, “I couldn’t do the job that you do – not without my gun.” That’s why us teachers get paid the big bucks.
Monday Morning. ”Hey you!” I yell. ”It’s Monday. First graders only on the climber!” “But I AM in first grade,” the boy protests. I look him over. This kid is HUGE. Freakishly huge. But several other first graders assure me he is indeed in first grade. Geez Louise. When Tyrano-boy runs across the bridge, the entire structure shudders. I decide to keep an eye on him. ”I’m watching you,” I say, just to let him know I’m nobody’s fool.
I spend an inordinate amount of time standing at the bottom of the slide repeating the mantra. ”We don’t go UP the slide, we go DOWN it.” I say this so often and to the same kids, that someone suggested we just have a recorded message. Hey, I came up with an even better idea. You know those metal spikes that puncture your tires when you drive the wrong way?
I also do a lot of conflict resolution which usually culminates with rock, paper, scissors or an insincere, “I’m sorry.” Every day it’s the same kids who get in trouble. Hmmm, I wonder.
And there’s always a small group of junkies students who huddle under the climber snarfing Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. NPR did a great segment called Kids Love Hot Cheetos But Schools Hate Them. We teachers know the signs. Red encrusted lips and the insatiable need to drink water.
At my old school, I was on Yard Duty on day when I got a report of illicit activity in the girls restroom. I slipped into the girl’s restroom and could hear the telltale rustling of the bag in the last stall. There I found three Latino girls standing on the toilet sharing a Family Size bag of Hot Cheetos. “You are so busted!” I said. I like to use that line of Kevin Spacey’s from American Beauty. In fact, I like it so much, I actually look for opportunities to use it.
Wednesday Morning. “Hey you!” I yell. “It’s Wednesday. Third graders only on the climber!” Since I teach third grade, I can easily sort these kids out. Third graders have typically graduated from Flamin’ Hot Cheetos to cell phones.
Personally, I don’t have a problem with kids having cell phones, as long as they keep them in their backpacks. But kids seem to have this need to show their phone to friends. They Show and someone Tells. That’s when I step in. “Oh, you are so busted!” I announce, as I confiscate the phone. What they don’t know, is that when I walk away, I can’t help but smile. Hey, I’m nobody’s fool.
Seeing Red June 5, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Personal.Tags: Ginger, Hair Color, Health, Humor, Life, Personal, Red hair, Redheads, Style
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Better dead than red. That was my mother’s take on red hair. So it was my misfortune to have been born with red hair (as was my mother’s). There are gorgeous photos of my mother in college, but alas they’re all in black and white. So, there’s not even any hard evidence that my mother ever was a redhead.
My mother always felt that her red hair made her stand out, something she was loathe to do. As a child, I watched her mix the magic solution that changed her hair to a color that can best be called basic brown.
She mixed two shades of Nice ‘n Easy hair color to get just the right color for me. I called it “House Mouse Brown.” Can hair actually look beige?
Many people assume that with my red hair and green eyes, I must be of Irish ancestry. But my ancestors were from England, Wales, Scotland, and Germany. Scotland actually has the highest proportion of redheads with 13 percent having red hair and 40 percent possessing the recessive red hair gene. Even my father had reddish sideburns that emerged in middle age and remained red long after his hair started going gray.
While my hair was strawberry blond, my younger brother’s hair was carrot red. My mother tried to talk my brother into dying his hair too, but his defiant “stage” outlasted mine.
What I didn’t know (and what my mother didn’t tell me) was that for centuries “red hair was thought to be a mark of a beastly sexual desire and moral degeneration.” Hey, that’s me to a T! To learn more, check out Redheads: Myths, Legends, and Famous Red Hair.
In college, I let my hair revert back to its natural color. And I finally quit trying to straighten my hair. I had a virtual mushroom cloud of golden red curls and, for the first time in my life, I was okay with my hair. In fact, I actually quite liked it.
My friend Lesley in England is a gorgeous cheeky redhead, and she’s joined a Facebook group called “Ginger – It’s not a hair colour, it’s an ethnicity and a way of life.” That’s where I got the photo above. I had fun reading through the group’s invitation to “live the ginger life.” (I’m still adjusting to this “ginger” thing. It didn’t help that they did an entire episode on South Park on “gingers.”)
I keep my hair cut shorter now. I tell my hair stylist to think of my hair as a native shrub – low maintenance. There are entire weeks where I simply run my hands through my hair and that’s that. But now I know – Better red than dead!
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And eat men like air.
Sylvia Plath
Teaching Sex Ed May 1, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Teaching.Tags: 6th Grade, Education, GLBT, Health, Humor, Sex Ed, Sexual Education, Teaching, Teaching Middle School, Teaching Sex Ed, Teenage Pregnancy
4 comments
“Are you comfortable teaching Sex Ed?” My interview for a long-term sub job as a 6th grade Math and Science teacher was going extremely well when this question stopped me in my tracks. I really needed the job. I really needed the money. “No problem,” I said without a moment’s hesitation.
Middle School is a DMZ between elementary school and High School. Nothing prepared me for Middle School, except my own miserable experience in Junior High. And just referring to it as Junior High dates me. To be honest, I was less intimidated about teaching Sex Ed than teaching math. The principal informed me that the regular teacher had fallen off a desk while hanging a project up from the ceiling and was out on disability. (Later, I learned there was more to it than that, but that’s between you and me.)
I taught one period of math followed by one period of science with the same students twice a day. The good part was I got to keep the good students for TWO whole periods. The bad part was I got to keep the bad students for TWO whole periods. The class was pretty much equally divided between Asians (mainly Chinese) and Latinos (mostly Mexican). I had my token white student, who had Asperger Syndrome, and could rattle off the box office take for every Batman movie. And there was one African American girl named Princess. Don’t get me wrong. There were some really wonderful kids, whose parents couldn’t afford to send them to private school. And there were some really not so wonderful kids, who already had two strikes against them. Once the hormones kick in, sometimes it’s hard to tell one from the other.
If you’re like Middle Schoolers, you’re already getting restless. ”When is she going to start talking about the good stuff?” Penis. Vagina. I just threw those in to keep your interest.
During Period 4, I taught Intervention Math for students who were more than two years below grade level. This class included two Gypsy boys, who’d moved to California from Chicago when their father was released from prison. They had never been to school, spoke Bulgarian, and were still learning their ABC’s. I had another student, Eddie, who was prime gang recruitment fodder. Yeah, it was grim. If things got really bad, I could call Ed, the behavior aide, who wore mirrored wraparound sunglasses, and would escort the “offender” from the classroom. Round up the usual suspects.
After the first month, two girls told me someone had written something bad about me in a book. ”Does it rhyme with witch?” I asked. They exchanged looks and seemed disappointed that I wasn’t more shocked. So, I was less than thrilled at the prospect of teaching these same kids Sex Ed.
Oh, I forgot to mention one small detail. In the class next door, there was a 6th grader who was pregnant. Yes, the girl (and she was a girl) was 12. The father was 19 and the girl’s mother planned to raise the child as her own. (Think “She’s my sister!/She’s my daughter!” from Chinatown) The girl’s belly was already showing, and some of the girls wanted to have a baby shower. Suddenly, teaching Sex Ed seemed way more important than teaching the kids to calculate the radius of a circle.
There didn’t seem to be an actual curriculum for Sex Ed. There was just talk about The Film. And about the all important Money Shot, where the animated penis gets an erection. But, I had yet to see The Film, so I had no idea what to expect. Another veteran teacher, who’d taught Sex Ed for years, told me she liked to break the ice by writing PENIS and VAGINA in huge letters on the board. But, I was a sub. I really needed the money. I did not plan to write PENIS or VAGINA in huge letters on the board.
There were two Chinese-American girls, who sat at the back of the classroom. Compared to some of the other students, who were 12 going on 21, they were almost childlike and sat two stuffed bears on their desks each day. I couldn’t help but notice on the day we were to discuss Sex Ed, they’d made blindfolds out of Kleenex and covered the bears’ eyes.
Day 1 -The atmosphere in the classroom crackled with anticipation. I thought we’d start by talking about where our attitudes and information about sex come from. We made a list: Parents, friends, TV, movies, music, music videos, religion, and books (including comic books with those busty vixens who ride shotgun to the superheroes). So far, so good. I was actually surprised at how easy this was for me.
Finally, it was time for The Film. We should have just fast-fowarded to the “penis rising” shot as the kids were so eager to see the rumored launch, they weren’t paying attention to anything else. The star of the show finally made its appearance. The animation wasn’t top notch and the tip of the penis wasn’t even in the shot. It was like watching a bulldozer slowly lift a load of …?
After the film, students (some who were still flustered) were to write out questions. All students received a piece of paper and had to fold it it up, even if it was blank, and drop it into a bag. That way no one would know who asked the question. I read the first question, “Do people sweat when they have sex?” The class let out out a collective groan and looked at the boy with Asperger’s, who they knew had asked THAT question. ”Well, sex is physical, so it is possible you’re going to sweat,” I answered. Okay, one down. I grabbed some more questions.
“Is having sex really like warm apple pie?” “Why do women like to be handcuffed to beds for sex?” ”What’s a dildo?” “Will drinking Mountain Dew prevent you from getting pregnant?” ”What’s rape?” “What makes people gay?”
Holy sh*t! Some of the questions seemed incredibly vulgar, but I came to realize that these were the only words the kids knew. Some questions were so graphic, I couldn’t read them aloud, but had to paraphrase them, or just toss them in the trash. When it came to sex, these kids knew Everything and Nothing. They’d watched sex acts on TV and in movies, but totally out of the context of a loving, committed relationship.
This is what I remember saying:
Because I don’t like apple pie and didn’t see the movie American Pie, that analogy is lost on me. I do like cherry pie though, so sex could be like cherry pie.
Sex without love is just sex. It’s like brushing your teeth only you can get pregnant.
I’ve never known any girl who said, “Boy, I wish I’d had sex earlier.” But I’ve known plenty (including my son’s friend who lost her virginity at 11 when she got drunk at a party) who said, “I sure wish I would have waited so it would have been special.”
If you were a sailor and went off to sea, would you rather your wife keep herself company with a carved replica of “yourself,” or have sex with another guy?
Rape doesn’t have as much to do with sex, as it has to do with violence. It’s a way for someone to use the act of sex to humiliate another person.
A good recipe for date rape usually includes alcohol.
The bell rang. But, it was like the students didn’t want to leave. Sex Ed was two days long, so we had another day of Q&A. As the kids filed out the door, I looked over and saw several boys combing through the trash hoping to nab one of the reject questions. Eddie, the wannabe gang banger, offered to bring one of his condoms the next day, but I told him that wouldn’t be necessary.
Day 2 – The students couldn’t wait to get into class and pick up where we’d left off.
“Handcuffs?” Well, maybe some people find that exciting, but that’s all about make believe (It’s not like I was going to introduce them to S&M), and some people like fantasy more than others. Just like when you’re a kid and you dress up and pretend you’re someone else. Remember how you’d pretend to arrest someone and haul them off to jail? They nodded. I drew a line on the board. At one end it said Some People (handcuffs) and at the other end was Most People (masturbation). Think of it as a Sex Ed graphic organizer.
“Mountain Dew as birth control?” I recognized the handwriting on that question. It belonged to a girl who was the top student in the class. The girl who won the DARE poster contest. I’d ridden with her in the back of a police car over to the Civic Center when she received the award. If she thought Mountain Dew might prevent pregnancy, they were all doomed. “When I was your age, it was Coca-Cola, and that’s just as silly as Mountain Dew,” I said. ”The only way to be 100 percent sure you don’t get pregnant, is not to have sex.”
“What makes people gay?” What the kids didn’t know (and what I didn’t tell them), was that my own son had come out as gay three weeks earlier, so this was a subject close to my heart. I told them 10 percent of the population is gay. Let’s see, that would mean that 3 students in the class could possibly be gay. But I didn’t go THERE. Children can be cruel and quick to point fingers. But, here’s what I did say.
“If one day a year, all of the people who were gay had orange eyes, you’d be amazed at how many people you know have orange eyes. People you know, people you respect, even people you love. But many of them are afraid to tell you. They’re afraid that you won’t understand that this is the way they were born.
I was getting ready to pass the bag again when Princess raised her hand. “Can’t we just ask you the questions?” she said, and I realized she was speaking for the whole class. I nodded.
For the next half hour, students raised their hands and asked me questions that I can’t share with you. Because what happened was between me and my students. I answered each question as honestly as I could. As a parent, I kept in mind what I would want a caring adult to tell my child.
It was almost time for the bell to ring. There was time for one more question, and this time I got to ask it. ”How many of you would feel comfortable talking to your parents about the stuff we talked about? The students’ incredulous looks told me what I already knew. I reminded students that their parents knew a thing or two about sex (after all, THEY were here), and that parents often feel awkward talking about sex too. As the students flew out the door, I saw the pregnant 6th grader walk past. I’d like to think that had it been a year earlier…
“Are you comfortable teaching Sex Ed?” Yes! I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Photo Credit: May is Sex Month on YouthCast by Youthcast1 on Flickr.
The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #1 April 18, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Health, Idealization Phase, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Personality Disorders, Relationships
11 comments
I never could have imagined that so many people would read my 3-part series Close Encounter with a Narcissist. Or imagined how many people would leave comments detailing their own often heart-wrenching “close encounters.”
When I check my blog stats (something us bloggers obsessively do), I like to check the “search engine terms” people typed in before they were electronically dropped off at my blog’s doorstep.
In this new series, The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism, I’ll use a “search term” I’ve come across as a jumping off point for a discussion. (Please read the Close Encounter with a Narcissist series first, or it’s like walking in after the movie’s started. Shhhh!) Here goes.
“Will a narcissist ever idealize you again?”
A close friend, who also had a friendship with a man with NPD, wrote eloquently about the idealization phase and gave me permission to share her thoughts. The following is an excerpt (with identifying details omitted).
“During the initial idealization phase, the Narcissist shines a laser beam of attention on us. We blossom in its unusual warmth. Most people don’t pay that kind of attention to us. We find we like it, need it, maybe even deserve it.
Then when the Narcissist realizes we actually like them, they think we must be worthless, because they themselves feel worthless inside and unlikeable. The beam of light shuts off. Then they shoot a death ray to ward us away. They don’t want an emotional relationship. It’s a tug of war between them needing attention and not wanting any emotional involvement, until we’re smart enough to let go of the rope. (How’s that for a mixed metaphor?)
Narcissists just seem to be much better at the initial burst of showering attention. And most people are starved for some kind of acknowledgement. I know I was. When I met “William,” he acted as if I was the greatest thing at first. And he was certainly a busy, interesting person. Yes, I was smitten. Yet, when I look back we never really even had conversations. After our initial meeting, they were mostly combat. Abuser/user.
You know what they say about alcohol and alcoholics. The first drink is the best high, and you spend the rest of your life chasing it, and it’s never the same. Later, all you get is sick. But you keep hoping, you’ll have that nice warm feeling again. But alcohol doesn’t care about you! Now, though, when I see him, I don’t feel anything, but I do remember how I used to feel.”
Sound familiar? When I first read it, I couldn’t help but say, “Yes!” The Idealization phase is just that – a phase, and there’s no real way to extend it, unless you go into serious game-playing mode, renounce your humanity, and just play hard to get. It’s the chase that excites the Narcissist. But that’s not a relationship – that’s high school! So once you show genuine interest in a Narcissist, the exit sign quickly comes into view.
There’s no way around this. This is a script with a beginning (Idealization), a middle (Devaluation), and an end (Discard). I do think that people in long-term relationships with Narcissists (and so many who’ve written comments were married 25-35 years), live in a perpetual Twilight Zone of D&D. Even though they are not “physically” discarded, they are “emotionally” discarded early on. How can they get back into the Narcissist’s good graces? It’s simple. They can’t.
But what if…? Those who’ve had a short-term “close encounter” often believe it’s possible to recapture that “magic.” To call for a “do-over” – this time with a different result. What they don’t understand is that all magic is about illusion. Smoke and mirrors, as in, it’s all an act. Any contact with the Narcissist after the initial D&D is just a sequel to the original show. And how many sequels to you know that are better than the original (The Godfather excluded)?
Think of the NS (Narcissistic Supply) a Narcissist derives from a victim, who repeatedly returns for more. Inside, the Narcissist feels worthless and unlovable, so he/she views any person who continues to be drawn to him/her as inferior, or to put it bluntly – a loser. All the more reason to kick that person to the curb – yet again. Elisse Stuart wrote about this in “Narcissistic Curtain Calls.” A Narcissist might reel you back in one more time, not because they idealize you or miss you, but just to prove to themselves they can. Then the D&D begins anew. It’s the sinister human equivalent to the fisherman’s catch and release.
So the answer to the question, “Will a narcissist ever idealize you again?” is NO. I reached this conclusion in my head, long before I reached it in my heart. It’s an emotional tug of war, and you can only win when you let go of the rope.
Read The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #2
The Zen of Gardening April 13, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Gardening, Hobbies.Tags: Gardening, Health, Humor, Life, Southern California, Stress reduction, Teaching, Zen
6 comments
Growing up, my gardening experience was limited to weeding one very small strawberry patch, which was also our dog Holly’s favorite pooping spot. To this day, I always wash strawberries one more time – just in case.
In the suburbs, people didn’t actually garden as they were too busy slavishly maintaining The Lawn. One of my enduring memories is of driving past our neighbor’s house and seeing him sitting out in the front yard after dinner every night with a bucket, methodically digging up dandelions. Night…after night… after night. What a monumental waste of time, I thought. You go to work all day in a cubicle (though cubicles had yet to be invented and popularized by Dilbert) and come home to THIS. But I was young, so what did I know?
In 1996, we bought our first house and the pipeline of “Better Homes & Gardens” began flowing (Thanks Mom). I realized that I actually liked getting my hands dirty and watching the bugs and worms scuttle off when I overturned a rock. (See Bugs Don’t Bug Me.) Rabid do-it-yourselfers, my husband and I broke out the concrete patio, then meticulously reset the broken pieces of concrete in a bed of mortar with a scattering of polished black stream stones.
In the middle of our new and improved patio, we planted two queen palm trees inside a 3-foot high circular concrete planter. My husband and I personally hand-mixed 42 bags of concrete to pull this off in a day (with only one emergency trip to Home Depot to buy MORE concrete). When I look at the planter now, the only logical explanation for undertaking such a project is demonic possession.
We planted a variety of plants around the base of the palms. Strawberries for our pig (above dog pooping level), some bulbs, a succulent, and ivy so it cascades over the top of the planter, which is outlined in bricks.
One night my husband noticed I was hovering over the planter, which I’d come to do more often than not. Night…after night…after night. I fussed over every incursion by a weed and meticulously clipped away any leaf that dared to go brown on the tip. What was happening to me?
I’d started teaching, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that my first three years of teaching, I had horrible classes. Horrible. I’d often come home feeling overwhelmed and then have to start calling parents about what their little darling had done that day. It was incredibly stressful.
That’s when it hit me. So much of my life was out of control, and the one thing I felt I could control was a little patch of dirt. Suddenly, my heart went out for that neighbor from my childhood. After a day at a mind numbing job, he was out picking dandelions most likely for the same reason I was hovering over my “garden” with manicure scissors. To keep his sanity. To keep his head from exploding a la Scanners.
What better place to clear your head, but in the garden, where you can lapse into the rhythms of nature and use your hands to do something besides double click. I can’t think of anything more zen than whiling away quality time in the garden, allowing your soul to feast on the beauty of the natural world.
I’m feeling settled as a teacher these days, and my newfound serendipity shows in my gardening, which is sporadic and in spurts. My husband likes to say there’s nothing I like better to do than sit out in the dirt. It’s true, I’ve no need for those high tech knee pads, as I just plunk myself down and get to work. I’m a Taurus and that IS an earth sign. I wonder.
Not long ago, my husband wandered out back looking for me. Not seeing me, he stood still for a moment until he could hear me. I was sitting in the dirt behind a giant perennial, pruning. Clip. Clip. Clip. My jeans were encrusted with dirt, as was my face. He took in the view. “You know, back in the pioneer days,” he said, “If you’d been kidnapped by Indians, you’d would have SO gone native.”
You know, I think that’s one of the nicest compliments my husband has ever paid me.
Butt, Naked? March 8, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Health, Teaching.Tags: Body Image, Body Issues, Childhood Obesity, Children and Nudity, Education, Health, Humor, Swimming, Teaching, Third Grade
8 comments
Nothing prepared my third grade girls, or me for that matter, for a walk through the Women’s locker room at a nearby local aquatic center. No, there wasn’t anything titillating. Tits, yes, but nothing titillating. It was strictly R-rated – “R” as in Real. Real people. Real bodies. Real scary – as in adult naked women, who bore no resemblance to Hannah Montana toweling off. The horror.
First, some back story. Our entire third grade was given the opportunity to participate in the center’s “Olympic Challenge.” Four weeks of swimming lessons, four days a week, at the most gorgeous aquatic center imaginable. Swimming doesn’t get any better than this.
But to get to that gorgeous pool, you have to go through the locker room. Now, I never liked locker rooms when I was a kid. In middle school, I was so skinny that I could hide INSIDE my locker to avoid the dreaded gang shower. Luckily, the swim lessons were provided by young hard-bodied instructors. Us teachers got to sit pool side warming a bench – fully clothed, ostensibly “grading papers.”
No sooner had we marked our territory with the our grade books, than a wide-eyed boy emerged from the Men’s locker room. ”There’s a naked man in there!” he announced, as though he’d just seen an alien. Yeah, the boys have their own issues.
The teacher I partnered with has spent a lot of time in Europe and is married to a European. She gave me the impression they actually have a hard time keeping clothes on, those fun-loving Europeans. But reading The Emperor Who Had No Clothes two weeks earlier was the closest my class had come to discussing nudity. We’d decided that the Emperor was wearing his “birthday suit,” though some kids later wrote that he was “butt naked.” (I don’t have a problem with the word “butt,” unless it’s preceded by the word “big.”)
I told my students to hurry up and change. They had no reason to linger in the locker room. “It’s not like you’re at Starbucks,” I told them. The first week was the worst. My Korean girls opened all the lockers and then draped towels between them so as to make small private dressing rooms. At least, that’s what I was told. I only set foot in the locker room once and the collective scream that went up sent me scurrying outside.
The first day, kids had to try on a swim suit (which they got to keep). Several of my bigger girls had to try on more than one to get just the right fit. One girl, who can look me eye to eye, sat pool-side the first week because she was “coming down with a cold.” After a few days, the swim instructor told me she needed try on a suit so she’d be ready to swim. The instructor then handed me three suits.
The girl hunkered down in a bathroom stall and I had to talk her through trying on each suit. Lots of grunting and groaning followed by, “Oops! I think I have it on backwards.” I offered to take a look, but she was horrified at the prospect. I finally convinced her this was okay, but first I had put on my dark glasses and keep my eyes shut, as I’d promised. I groped around and fiddled with the straps. Then I was granted a quick look. ”Hmmm. I think the straps cut into your back,” I said, reaching for the next size up.
I groused, as I heard the girl’s elbows knock against the sides of the stall, “You could have at least chosen a handicapped stall!” At last, we found a suit that covered the subject. I was exhausted. I had no idea that being a “highly, qualified teacher” involved THIS. The icing on the cake was when the girl’s family went out of town the next week – for the duration of swimming. Hmmm… But then what do I know?
When it was first announced that students would be swimming, my Muslim girl’s mother took me aside. She was concerned that her daughter be dressed “modestly.” I assured her I’d figure something out. That night I found myself googling “Muslim swim wear.” Oh dear. Snappy music came up with a woman riding a jet ski wearing what appeared to be a beekeeper’s suit. So not! Later, I found myself at Target checking out board shorts for girls. In the end, my student wore board shorts and a matching top, and yes, the other students knew why. It was no big deal. My student had never been in a pool before, so when she jumped off the diving board on the last day, I was ecstatic.
It was easier for the boys, but then the bigger boys (those who wear “Husky-sized” pants), were plagued by an even more embarrassing issue – Man boobs. Most of these boys were used to swimming in a t-shirt, so having it all out there for the world to see was humiliating. They walked around with their arms folded over their chests, which made them look like they were chronically cold.
Each day, we took the swimsuits back to school and hung them up to dry. When I noticed that one of my boys was always the first ready to swim, I realized he was taking his suit home and wearing it under his pants to school each day. Yeah, that would have been me, so I said nothing.
The first day, one of the instructors said the last boy out of the locker room would have to do the “chicken dance” in front of the girls, and vice-versa. This got the kids moving at warp speed. It is possible the “chicken dance” is just an urban legend, because I never actually saw it performed.
I never got around to grading any of those papers, what with taking photos of my students and passing out towels and all. But I had plenty of time to check out the other people at the pool. Not a lot of hotties swim during school hours. Like I said – “R” rated. We were sitting there one day when a guy walked by, his trunks clinging for dear life to his back side. The other teacher turned to me and said just what I was thinking – “Crack kills.” We burst out laughing.
Remember, last one out has to do the “chicken dance!”
Photo Credit: Chicken Dance by babka_babka on Flickr.
Can a Narcissist be Cured? February 19, 2009
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Borderline Personality Disorder, Can a narcissist be cured?, Flirtation, Health, Hugo Schwyzer, Mental Illness, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Relationships, Sam Vaknin
3 comments
This is the poster that hung in Agent Fox Mulder's X-Files office.
When I first started researching Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), I goggled “flirtation,” as my narcissistic friend “Joe” was a chronic flirt. It was actually embarrassing to be with him when he was in “turn on the charm” mode. Think: Small boy showing off in front of his mother’s friends. Yeah, it was THAT bad.
I stumbled upon A long post about flirtation, validation, and conversion on Hugo Schwyzer’s blog. Hugo, a professor at Pasadena City College, is a prolific blogger (219 posts on blogging alone!)
Over my Winter Break (the holiday formerly known as Christmas Vacation), I was on Facebook wasting some quality time. I noticed that one of my friends had commented on a photo Hugo Schwyzer had posted. I recognized his name and sure enough, I still had his post bookmarked. I sent him a message via Facebook telling him how I enjoyed his writing along with a link to my Close Encounter with a Narcissist.
No reply from Hugo, but several days later I noticed an incoming link from his blog. Not only had Hugo read Close Encounter with a Narcissist, but he had written an entire post in response to it.
What I didn’t know was that Hugo had been repeatedly diagnosed with a Cluster B Personality Disorder (Borderline was always the default diagnosis) starting in college. He has written numerous posts about his self-destructive behavior, suicide attempts, voluntary hospitalizations, and three marriages (followed by three divorces) – all before he hit the big 3-5. (You’ll find these under “Addictions and Mental Illness” and “Narcissism and Borderline Personality.”) Hugo is a prolific writer. He writes with intelligence and insight and has plumbed every detail of his life ad nauseam. Whether you agree with Hugo or not, it’s always an interesting read.
In his post ”Turning down the volume on KHGO”: Reflections on overcoming a personality disorder, Hugo urged his readers “to read all three of my excellent pieces,” but took issue with this statement I made (a mishmash of many other’s quotes): “So someone doesn’t have a personality disorder, they ARE the personality disorder. These personality traits are so deeply ingrained that they defy change.”
Hugo goes to great lengths to detail how far he’s come since he got clean and sober, and found God. If he were an attorney, I might be tempted to say he presents a strong case for the defense. His own. He believes it’s possible for someone with a personality disorder to change – if they really want to, and offers himself as proof. Yet even Hugo acknowledges that it’s an ongoing struggle – making him a work in progress.
Here’s the comment I wrote in response to his post.
I found your post interesting and have taken several days to “sit on it.” Yes, I’ve had numerous visitors to my blog planetjan. (Hugo sent me!) Thank you very much.
It’s ironic that your name and picture popped up on Facebook through a mutual friend. I recognized your name. Sure enough, I still had your post on flirtation bookmarked from two years ago, when I was first researching NPD.
I hadn’t read any of your other posts about your hospitalizations and diagnoses, but now I have. I appreciate your honesty and candor as one of my sons has OCD and also spent a stint as a minor at Las Encinas due to drug-related problems. I had to laugh when you described how cute the nurses thought it was that you wore duck slippers, as that sounds so much like my son.
Though you obviously have narcissistic tendencies (but on some days, so do I), ultimately you don’t seem grandiose (in the clinical sense), which is what distinguishes NPD from the other Cluster B disorders. Sam Vaknin, himself a narcissist, said that “self-reflection is the antonym of narcissism.”
Narcissists, as a rule, are not self-destructive, and none I know have ever shown self-destructive tendencies (other than substance abuse). None have sought help from a therapist (unless they were literally dragged there by a significant other) as they were convinced they didn’t have a problem. I tend to agree with Emily’s comment above. My friends in 12-step programs are quick to point out that they are always “recovering,” as opposed to “cured.”
So, from my own (albeit limited) experience, I’d give you a clean bill of health when it comes to NPD. Narcissism, though, is like a ground fog that swirls about ALL of the Cluster B disorders.
Your relentless introspection runs contrary to this diagnosis. BTW, your sponsor sounds like a wise and very patient man. I imagine when you did Step 10 – “Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it,” you took it to the nth degree! I say this with all due sincerity. Jan
I want to believe. No, make that I wanted to believe. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to believe it WAS possible for Joe to change, especially once I’d seen beneath the mask. I felt his pain, yet any attempt to go “there” with Joe was an exercise in futility. Despite the countless seminars he attended so he could learn to “relate” to women and deal with his “boundary issues,” it all came down to this – He was going through the motions. Nothing every changed for Joe. Nothing ever will. I take no joy in saying this.
My concern is for the Narcissist’s victims who tell themselves, “If I just try harder to communicate my feelings, or bend over backwards, or walk on water, I know he/she will finally ‘get it.’” They want to believe. They want to believe they can help the Narcissist actually feel something. Something real.
People have asked Sam Vaknin, the author of Malignant Self-Love – Narcissism Revisited, if having insight into his own narcissism has enabled him to change for the better. Sam’s answer is a resounding NO. Sure, he can change on a superficial level if it so suits him, but not at a deeper level. Not in his heart. But doesn’t Sam’s willingness to share his knowledge about Narcissistic Personality Disorder prove that he possesses that ever elusive quality the rest of us call “empathy?” Sam pulls no punches. Being a poster-boy for NPD is a major source of Narcissistic Supply (NS). Period.
I don’t believe for a minute that Hugo has NPD (Borderline maybe, but not NPD). Hugo’s relentless self-examination runs contrary to everything I’ve learned about Narcissistic Personality Disorder. So, ergo Hugo. But I like to keep an open mind. Read Hugo’s posts and see what you think. The Truth is out there.
My Son – Who Happens to be Gay November 22, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Life, Parenting, Politics.Tags: Civil Rights, Equality, Family, Gay Marriage, Gay Rights, GLBT, Health, Homosexuality, Keith Olbermann, Life, Parenting, PFLAG, Proposition 8, Transgender
5 comments
I have two sons. My younger son, Ian, happens to be gay. I didn’t set out to have a gay son. But then Ian didn’t set out to be gay, and to be honest, it came as a shock to him as well. He was confused about why he felt “different.” And he struggled alone. Even now, I can’t imagine what that was like for him when he was only nine and had a crush on a boy in the fourth grade.
When Ian was 14 and a half, we were sitting in the doctor’s office, and he announced he was gay. We laugh now remembering what happened next. I blurted out, “Oh my god, I hope my parents die soon!” This was because my parents had left their church in the Midwest over the issue of gay unions. My head was spinning. Driving home, I was in a fog. I’ve always had gay friends, but my son? My eyes brimmed with tears. Why me? What I remember most is what my son said next. “Mom, I’m the same person I was before – It’s just that now you know.”
“Please don’t tell Dad,” Ian asked. My response? ”That’s like asking me not to tell your father the house is on fire!” So he told his dad who was surprised, but ultimately okay with it. Then he told his older brother who shrugged. “Just don’t expect me to go riding around in one of those gay pride parades.”
Ian felt such a sense of relief to be able to be honest about who he was. This was the same kid who had written “I’m gay” in Sharpie on the back of another boy’s jacket in middle school. Talk about confused self-loathing. It wasn’t easy for him though.
Ian, who’s outgoing and always had lots of friends, thought once he came out, other students at his high school would come out as well. He waited…and waited. There was one other boy who was extremely flamboyant, who Ian wanted nothing to do with. Ian had played Little League baseball and considered himself a jock. His attitude was, “If I want to hang out with a girl, I’ll hang out with a real girl.”
Looking back, I can’t believe how brave my son was. Yes, he took a boy as a date to the prom. He was confident no one would give them a problem as Ian is infinitely likable and has a wicked sense of humor. No one did, but I held my breath. As a parent, I was frightened that someone would lash out at my son, verbally or physically. But being young, Ian was convinced he could change the world – or at least people’s opinions – one at a time. And to his credit, he did and continues to do so.
Meanwhile, my husband and I found PFLAG (Parents, Family and Friends of Lesbians And Gays. I should note that at the meetings I attended there were also families with transgender children). We met so many incredible people at those meetings. People came because they too had family members and friends who were gay. Those who’d been attending for awhile always described being able to acknowledge their child’s sexual orientation as an amazing “journey.” It was painful though when parents who’d just found out their child was gay came to a meeting. Some were still in such a state of shock or denial they couldn’t speak. But the important thing was they showed up. It was the first step on their journey.
There was a Chinese woman who wanted to know if there were magical herbs that could turn her son, who was in his 30s and a doctor, back to “normal.” There were African-Americans whose childhoods were so interwoven with the church, they felt ostracized in their own community. And there were people who’d gotten married because, “I thought if I got married and had a family, it might make IT go away.” They’d come to the conclusion that telling a lie is easy, but living a lie takes a toll on one’s soul.
Eventually, I couldn’t keep The Secret any longer. After a year, I broke down and told my parents their grandson was gay. They were in shock, but they love Ian. Several years later when they were visiting, my father said to Ian, “Someday when you meet the perfect woman…” He caught himself. ”I mean man.” he said. Ian was overjoyed as he adores his grandparents.
My son has never been interested in the club scene. ”That’s not the way you and dad raised me,” he said with such earnestness, that my heart ached for him. He talks about “when I have a kid.” He has that optimism that comes with youth. It helps that we live in Southern California. Ian is still put off by “girlie” guys and was critical of people who are transgender until he saw the movie Transamerica. He watched it again the other night and said it made him cry. So even he has been on his own journey of understanding.
My son is now 22. He goes to college and he, and his boyfriend of a year, live with us. The other day he asked, “Mom, at what age are you considered a loser if you still live at home with your parents?” I told him with the economy the way it is, this might be as good as it gets. But we’re all okay with that.
I really don’t give much thought to my son being gay anymore. It’s just one part of who he is, but certainly doesn’t define him as a human being. I was disturbed though when he came to me last night and told me how upsetting it was when several young men chanted, “Yes on 8!” when he and his boyfriend walked by. Ian is a peaceful person, and it was all he could do to not say something. And of course, you always think of just the right thing to say afterwards. But hate, even though Ian knows it stems from ignorance, still hurts.
So when my friend TIna, who also has a gay son, emailed this morning that she’s going to attend a peaceful march tonight to protest the passage of “Yes on 8,” I said count me in. She and some of our friends marched last weekend. They sent me pictures of them holding their placards. What I was most impressed with was that most of those who showed up don’t have a gay child. They went because they thought it was the right thing to do. They believe in equal rights for all Americans.
So now it looks like it’s going to be a gay day. I can think of a lot of things I’d rather be doing on a Saturday night. But the stakes are just too high. We’re not talking about one of THOSE people. We’re talking about my son.
One of the most eloquent and impassioned commentaries I’ve seen on this issue is “Keith Olbermann’s Response to Prop. 8.” To view his commentary, please press the following link: Peace.
Old Cold Blues October 14, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Health, Teaching.Tags: Common Cold, Health, Humor, Teaching
4 comments
It’s Day 13 of my not-so-common cold, and today I lost my voice. This does not bode well as when you’re a teacher you have to talk all day long. I’d like to believe my voice sounds sultry, even sexy, but in reality, I sound like a bullfrog in mating season one minute and Mickey Mouse the next.
For a week now, I’ve been taking anything that ends with -Quil, so I’m officially on Elvis Time. (see Quotation Rotation #1). ”Why don’t you just use sign language,” my oh-so-thoughtful students suggested. Yes, I do sign a lot of directions in my class. But really, it’s not like I know how to sign, “Quit thumping that pencil.” (or I’m going to stick it in your ear). That, by the way, is an imperative sentence – something my students need to know next week for The Test.
I get two colds a year. It could be worse, considering I’m surrounded by 20 kids whose first impulse when they feel like throwing up is to run toward me. “Teacher! I feel sick!” With outstretched arms, I form a cross with my fingers, as if to ward off vampires. ”Move away from the teacher, ” I repeat calmly, as I back away from them and toss them a plastic grocery bag. Whew! Another ticking biological bomb diffused.
The classroom is one big germfest, so I’m not the only one sick. I looked over today and saw that my new student from Korea had a stalactite of snot hanging from his nose. We were just finishing the spelling pretest. I’ve got some really good spellers who asked, “What about a challenge word?” I didn’t hesitate. “Snotty,” I said, straight-faced, as I handed Mr. Stalactite a tissue. In my class you get one tissue per day. ”Uno solamente,” I told him, forgetting, in my -Quil induced haze, that he speaks Korean. If I didn’t ration tissues, the kids would go through two boxes a day, just so they can get out of their seat to get one, and then get out of their seat again to throw it away. Repeat this ritual ten times a day – you get the picture.
I like to look at the glass (of Robitussin, that is) as half full, so I’m trying to look on the bright side. All my students spelled “snotty” correctly.
Cockroach Confidential September 20, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Life.Tags: Bugs, Cockroaches, Health, Humor, Life, New York City
3 comments
There were cockroaches everywhere. A biblical plague had descended on the Holy Land – the Holy Land being our overpriced New York City apartment. (Yes, I realize that using the word “holy” in the same sentence as “New York City” amounts to blasphemy.) The final straw came when we found them crawling in the cereal that my sons ate. Cereal killers! Drastic times call for drastic measures. We decided it was time to call in the professionals. Who you gonna call? – (No, not them) – Lady Killers!
I can’t remember how I found out about Lady Killers; but the woman on the phone assured me she could take care of “the problem.” I envisioned a highly-trained entomological exorcist, who could banish these six-legged demons that had turned our lives into a living hell.
We’d exhausted the traditional “final solutions.” We’d already sprinkled crop circles of boric acid around the apartment, and all of the Roach Motels had vacancy signs. We’d taken to wiping down the kitchen counter hourly and keeping all food in tightly sealed plastic containers. It was like we were living in a bomb shelter and dipping into rations when we ate.
I eagerly awaited the arrival of the Lady Killer. So I was a bit taken aback when a dowdy, overweight woman arrived and introduced herself as Elaine. This was the Lady Killer? She had an unusually firm handshake. That’s when I realized the Lady Killers were not just ladies, they were lesbians. Talk about a niche market.
As Elaine regaled us with tales of the German Brown cockroach’s superpowers, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the crusty old shark hunter Robert Shaw played in Jaws. All she was missing was the bite out of her forearm. She informed us a cockroach could live off a single drop of grease in the air for a year. And just like those starving Russians during the Siege of Leningrad, cockroaches could survive by eating the glue from book bindings. We had an entire wall of books, which I now realized was a virtual Hometown Buffet.
From her purse, Elaine produced several unmarked plastic squeeze bottles containing a mysterious white powder. Boric acid? ”No,” she scoffed. She informed us that eating boric acid only made THEM stronger. To be honest, I was afraid to ask her what was in the bottles. Although Elaine assured us it was non-toxic to humans, where was the label? This was obviously some home brewed concoction. But we were desperate. Sometimes it’s best not to know.
For the next two hours, Elaine ransacked our apartment squirting the white powder into every nook and cranny. The entire time, we raptly listened as she detailed the down and dirty habits of the German army that had been occupying our apartment and holding us hostage. She informed us the reason THEY were inside the kitchen clock is that they liked the warmth, and it provided an excellent base camp to launch their expeditions. If I’m ever a contestant on Jeopardy, I can only hope that one of the categories is Cockroaches. I’ll take Cockroaches for $500 please!
We wrote out a check for a couple of hundred dollars and waited. Elaine had said it would take a week before we’d see results. My husband was convinced the white powder was plain old boric acid and the “wait a week” ploy was just to give Elaine time to cash the check. He of little faith.
After a week, THEY began dying. Within two weeks our apartment was roach-free (knock on wood!). The down side was that every time we opened a file cabinet or drawer, a plume of white powder would rise up, leaving traces of white powder on our face and hair. This was New York City in the 80s, so I’m sure our neighbors just thought we had a serious cocaine problem. Any New Yorker can tell you that’s not nearly as bad as a serious roach problem.
We didn’t see a cockroach for six blissful months. Six months may not seem like a long time. But after eight years of daily hand-to-hand combat, this was a dream come true vacation. I actually began to relax. We still kept all of the food in plastic containers; but I no longer swatted anything that moved in my peripheral vision, including my children.
After six months, the clock struck midnight and the spell was broken. The roaches began straggling back. So Elaine returned once again with the magic powder. By then, she knew the most intimate details of our lives – as she’d been through every drawer and cabinet in our apartment.
By the time we finally decided to leave New York City, the cockroaches were back in full force. If I had any second thoughts about our flight from the Holy Land, these were put to rest when I saw baby roaches crawling inside the digital display on the microwave oven. Gross! We waved the white surrender flag and were escorted safely out of the combat zone aka New York City.
We were excited to be moving to Mexico. Little did we know that a welcoming committee was already forming to greet us – of scorpions.
Close Encounter With A Narcissist – Part 3 August 15, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Health, Life, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Personality Disorders, Sam Vaknin
26 comments
Please read/reread “Close Encounter with a Narcissist – Parts 1 & 2” before reading Part 3. These are usually featured in Top Posts in the column at the right. If not, you can access them through Tags or Categories under Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Scroll down through Part 3 to reach Parts 1 & 2. Note: In Part 3, I’ll refer to a person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) simply as a narcissist. Again, I’ll refer to the narcissist as “he,” as the majority of narcissists are male.
Looking back on my own close encounter with a narcissist, I can see the Red Flags were there early on. In my gut, I knew there was something “off” about my friend Joe. But I had trouble putting my finger on just what IT was. The more time I spent with him, it became painfully obvious how illogical Joe’s reasoning was – it just didn’t jibe with “human” logic. He also seemed enamored with himself and professed to having many talents. I once teased Joe that he was “self-absorbed.” But I wasn’t teasing – merely making an observation. For the first time, the word narcissist popped into my head.
Red Flag #1 – Grandiosity
Ah, yes. Grandiosity and its sidekick Magical Thinking. While there is an overlap with other personality disorders when it comes to Lack of Empathy; it is Grandiosity that distinguishes Narcissistic Personality Disorder from all of the other personality disorders. Grandiosity is the jewel in the crown that makes the narcissist so very special.
According to the DSM-IV, “The essential feature of Narcissistic Personality Disorder is a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and lack of empathy that begins by early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts.
“Individuals with NPD routinely overestimate their abilities and inflate their accomplishments, often appearing boastful and pretentious. They may blithely assume others attribute the same value to their efforts and may be surprised when the praise they expect and feel they deserve is not forthcoming.”
An admitted “seminar junkie,” Joe shared with me a dizzying array of plans he had that would bring him money, recognition, or just a change in scenery. After hearing these change weekly, I began writing down all of the things Joe was going to do “some day.” When you’re a teenager, or even in your twenties, this kind of daydreaming is normal. But not in your forties.
Narcissists love to envision grand scenarios starring – themselves! What they lack is the follow-through to make them reality. Why do narcissists indulge in this kind of thinking? Just thinking of all of the great things they’re “going to do” brings a smile to their face. Think of it as mental masturbation.
One day I told Joe I believed the best indicator of future behavior is past behavior. Not that people can’t change, but barring some life-changing epiphany, most people are creatures of habit. Joe vehemently disagreed. You see, the narcissist’s grandiosity goes hand-in-hand with Magical Thinking. Joe was big on the book The Secret, which holds that all you have to do is think positive thoughts and good things will happen. Now, I’m all for positive thinking and I like to think karma will come round, but Magical Thinking goes above and beyond. When you’re a narcissist, though, fairy tales can come true (besides, they’re already wearing that crown).
Here’s an example of grandiosity. Joe was considering taking a freelance job on the side. He’d never done this sort of work, but narcissists are convinced they can do anything. I warned Joe he could be getting in over his head, but he took the job anyway. Three weeks later, he came to me in a panic. Not only had he screwed up the job, he was being asked to refund the money he’d been paid, since someone else would now have to fix his mess. His client had mentioned the “L” word – lawyer. It was the first time I’d seen Joe visibly shaken.
Now, on some level, Joe knew he’d screwed up, but he refused to accept any responsibility. As I listened to him talk aloud about the botched job, I watched him mentally rewrite the scenario of what happened. It wasn’t his fault – It was that stupid woman who hired him. You see, narcissists are NEVER, EVER wrong. So, if a narcissist ever tells you he was wrong about something (a very human trait), brace yourself. Most likely he’s getting ready to do something really nasty – to you.
Red Flag #2 – Lack of Empathy
Empathy is what makes us human. We can put ourselves in someone else’s shoes and share their joy or feel their pain. But a narcissist has only one one pair of shoes – and they fit PERFECTLY. Human emotions confound narcissists and make them uncomfortable. They don’t know the right thing to say. They’ve watched humans, so they know what they’re supposed to say, but it doesn’t come naturally. This explains their often odd and insensitive comments (The Inappropriate Effect). Any talk of feelings is just so – icky! Joe was quick to point out he hated “girlie girls” or anyone who was “touchy feely.” He dismissed anything tinged with emotion as “drama.” What was funny was although Joe said he hated drama, it was his own bad behavior that sparked all of the drama in his life.
Joe often said he was “too nice.” He could talk a good game, lamenting the injustices in the world, as if he genuinely cared. But it was just that – talk.
I once listened to Joe make a comment to a young woman. They’d worked together, and supposedly were friends. The comment was about her body and had a sexual undertone. It left her visibly distressed. Now, any normal person, seeing her reaction would have immediately apologized for hurting her feelings. But what did “I’m too nice” Joe do? He sat across the table from her for the next hour and never opened his mouth. Later, I asked why he would say such an insensitive thing. He shrugged and admitted it was a cheap shot, but added, smiling, ”It was so easy – that’s what made it so much fun.” It was creepy.
When I talked to the woman several days later, SHE apologized to me! ”I’m sorry I got so upset,” she said. ”I know the way Joe is, so I shouldn’t have let it bother me so much.” Can you see how a narcissist gets away with such behavior? People make excuses for him! ”That’s just the way he is,” they say, while mentally adding another tally mark after the word @sshole.
Asking a narcissist to “have a heart” has just the opposite effect. Reasoning with them also falls on deaf ears. A narcissist doesn’t want to change because there’s nothing wrong with him. YOU are the one with the problem, remember?
Red Flag #3 – Confusing Communication
Communication (or should I say lack of genuine communication) with a narcissist is a crazy-making experience. Humans communicate to share information, ideas, and feelings. Not so the narcissist, who uses words to confuse and paralyze his victim. Narcissists don’t like to play their nasty games on a level playing field. Their cryptic comments are designed to keep their victim constantly confused and wondering, “What did THAT mean?” This tactic gives the narcissist “the home team advantage.”
Any attempt to discuss feelings with a narcissist is doomed to leave the victim not knowing left from right. Joe had a short list of pronouncements that could derail any conversation: “Can’t you take a joke?” ”But, no one got hurt!” ”Why do you bother talking about that? It’s in the past!” (yesterday constituted ‘the past’) “If you’d just behave!” ”I’m really busy, so is this life or death?” or his ultimate putdown, “You’re such a drama queen!”
If you know a narcissist, you already know the kind of comments I’m talking about. They’re the equivalent to a teenager’s dismissive, “Whatever!” or the “Talk to the Hand” gesture.
When cornered, a narcissist is like the cartoon character who, when in danger, magically produces a pencil, quickly draws a door, and makes a hasty exit. When I read Stalking the Soul by Marie-France Hirigoyen, a French psychiatrist whose specialty is victimology, it was her chapter on Communication and the narcissist that hit a nerve. The verbal roller coaster, with all its twists and turns, came to a screeching halt and I decided then it was time to get off the ride. It was no longer exciting – it was making me sick.
Cerebral and Somatic – Sex as in “Table for One, Please”
Narcissists get their admiration, or Narcissistic Supply (NS), in one of two forms. Cerebral narcissists gain NS through their intellect, that is, by being “an authority.” Somatic narcissists may be equally intelligent, but they satisfy their need for NS through sexual conquests.
Both kinds of narcissist prefer autoerotic sex – masturbation – to sex with a flesh-and-blood woman. That’s because a real woman expects you to talk to her, or even worse, cuddle, after the main event. Remember, the narcissist can’t establish a genuine emotional bond with another human so he finds these feelings unnatural and awkward. Faking it is hard work, and he’d just as soon get up and watch TV or check his email. You served your purpose and now he’s done with you. It’s like he had to blow his nose – and the Kleenex? Well, that would be you. He’ll toss it/you aside until he needs to blow his nose again. Romantic, huh?
Cerebral narcissists can put on a show during the idealization phase, but quickly lose all interest in sex. They’re essentially asexual. They derive pleasure from frustrating their partner by withholding sex. This gives them a feeling of power. Besides, to them, not only is sex down and dirty – it’s just so common. They’re way too special to engage in such a common pursuit. So they can do without.
Despite Joe’s love of sexual innuendo, I realized when it came to women, he was like my dogs when it comes to cats. My dogs love the chase, but if the cat stops running, they just stand there, looking rather embarrassed about what to do next. After a short impasse, they wander off to look for another cat that will run from them. Remember, it’s the chase that the narcissist loves.
A somatic narcissist, on the other hand, is like the town dog always making his rounds. But it’s not just his infidelity, and the accompanying lies, that are so disturbing. It’s his irrational rationale. ”You made me do it” so “It’s not my fault.” (I apologize to all dogs for comparing them to a narcissist. Dogs are infinitely more caring and human than any narcissist could ever hope to be).
The Myth of Curing the Narcissist
Remember the blanket analogy from Part 1? A person doesn’t HAVE a personality disorder, they ARE the personality disorder. Narcissism in interwoven into every fiber of that blanket. Unravel the blanket and you unravel their personality.
If you’re a woman, you’re most likely a nurturer and think that with enough patience and love, someone or something can be helped. It’s that “I’ll nurse this fallen baby bird back to health using a medicine dropper!” thing. Sound familiar?
Even after I figured out that Joe had NPD, I was convinced if I could just reconnect with that inner child that was hiding deep inside, he’d feel safe to come out and show me his real face. Olly, olly, oxen free! Some call this logic “Peeling an Onion.” The rescuer thinks, “If I can just peel away the layers of hurt, I can get to the core of the problem, and I can help him heal.” But what’s at the core of an onion? Ah ha! That’s a trick question, because an onion has no core. Not to mention that peeling an onion makes YOU cry, while the onion feels nothing.
Know this. That wounded child’s True Self might as well be preserved in amber. It’s fossilized and will never ever develop. Besides, a narcissist doesn’t want to be fixed because he’s convinced he’s fine just the way he is. It’s YOU who has the problem, remember?
So, least you forget, write this on a post-it note and put it up on the refrigerator: NO NARCISSIST HAS EVER BEEN CURED! (I’ve since written more about this. See Can a Narcissist be Cured?)
Discarded and Scarred – Life After the Narcissist
I was only involved with Joe for four months and we were just “friends.” (Friends is in quotations because narcissists don’t have any real friends). Joe had proven himself to be a first class @sshole on so many occasions. He showed absolutely no interest in me as a person – only in what I could do for him. He’d solicited advice, ignored it, then punished me for offering it. So why couldn’t I just “move on?” I knew WHAT he was. I knew there was NO CURE. But still…
First, it was hard to forget how much I enjoyed Joe’s company during the Idealization phase. He’d bound up to me like an eager puppy wagging its tail. It was hard to believe this was an act, or just the giddiness that went with honing in on a new source of NS. It seemed so real – to me.
But, the most painful part was the feeling of betrayal – of being duped. It’s hard to admit that you were just a “thing” with an expiration date, especially to a person you genuinely cared about. You want to think that when all is said and done at the end of the day, you were special. But you are special, and that’s why the narcissist targeted you.
I was angry with Joe, but I was angriest with myself. I’m a confident person with strong boundaries, so how could I have let this happen? This was all a game for Joe. But then he had an advantage because he’d played this game many times before. He knew the rules. Hell, I didn’t even know it was a game!
A word of warning: A narcissist will never give his victim the validation they so desperately seek, or closure. This final act of control and cruelty leaves his victim hanging and twisting in the wind. This brings a smile to the narcissist’s face.
I’ve forgiven myself. As a caring person, I only did what came naturally. I saw someone who was lonely and seemed to be in pain, and I reached out to help them. But Joe didn’t want or need my help, because he’s perfect just the way he is. So, you see, I’m the one with the problem. But it’s a problem I can live with. It’s called being human. And that, my friends, is what I learned from MY close encounter with a narcissist.
Acknowledgements
It was Joe’s self-involvement that led me to Google “narcissism.” Who would have known there were so many others on-line looking for answers?
Sam Vaknin’s book Malignant Self Love – Narcissism Revisited was a revelation. How could anyone not know Sam? A narcissist, he’s everywhere on the internet. I’m just glad a life crisis forced him to venture out into the light of day long enough to write this seminal book. Although I jokingly refer to Sam as the Head Vampire, he has shed such light into the darkness that is NPD. I’m only sorry I forwarded my highlighted version to Joe, who will never read it (I imagine he uses it to prop up the very short leg of a table).
Marie-France Hirigoyen’s book, Stalking the Soul, was a godsend. I ordered a used copy from Amazon.
I first found on-line support through Careplace’s NPD community. Several of the on-line friends I met there are now my real-life friends, and I kiss the ground for my good fortune.
The members of MSN Groups Narcissistic Personality Disorder Forum constantly amaze me with their wisdom, insight, and yes, humor. It’s inspiring to see how people can gain strength from each other’s experiences, cry, learn, laugh, and move forward. Special thanks to Femfree, the forum manager, for posting the link to my blog.
Finally, thanks to all those near and dear to me. You know who your are. Your patience and support has made me realize how incredibly rich I am.
Looking to the Future
I always thought that as soon as I finished writing Close Encounter with a Narcissist I’d be DONE! But I’m a teacher, remember? And there’s still so much work to be done to educate the public about this devastating disorder. So, I WILL be writing future posts on NPD. If you’d like to check in from time to time, please bookmark my site. Peace.
Posts since written – You’ll find them in Categories or Tags under Narcissistic Personality Disorder
Can a Narcissist be Cured?
The Mirror Talks – Reflections on Narcissism #1, 2, and 3.
You’ll find these in Categories under Narcissistic Personality Disorder.
Coke for Breakfast August 12, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Food, Health.Tags: Coke, Food, Health, Humor, Popular Culture
3 comments
When my computer starts up in the morning, my husband likes to say, “That’s Jan booting up.” When I snap open the can of Coke that’s part of my not-so-balanced breakfast, he adds, “There’s the second sound that tells me she’s alive!” It’s pathetic, I know, but I’m a creature of habit. Besides, I’m a third generation Coca-Cola drinker.
I never knew my dad’s mom, as she died when he was a teenager. But he inherited her sterling silver coffee urn and liked to tell how she kept it filled with Coca-Cola. I thought this might have been because back then, it WAS the real thing. But Wikipedia set me straight. Although the formula for Coca-Cola was originally intended as a patent medicine (and did once contain an estimated 9 mg. of cocaine per glass), the “real thing” was removed in 1903. So my grandmother wasn’t a junkie – not unless that’s what YOU call someone who enjoys a Coke for breakfast. (For additional “Cokelore,” click here.)
The other story that was oft repeated about my grandmother was what happened when her daughter, after an argument, announced she was leaving home. My grandmother said, if that were the case, her daughter would leave the same way she arrived. She then proceeded to strip her naked and shove her out the front door. I think I would have had a lot more in common with my grandmother than just our love of Coca-Cola.
My mother liked to drink Coke. But once she switched to diet, I had no choice but to disown her. There’s only so much one can take and I don’t do diet. Really, my highly evolved taste buds can taste the difference.
When I was growing up, you could order a cherry Coke at the soda fountain and watch them squirt in the cherry syrup. It’s not the same in a can, so I don’t do Cherry Coke either. My friend, Kristina, likes to tease me that I’m old school as I’m the only one at school who keeps a Coca-Cola Classic in the fridge. At least I don’t have to worry about anyone else drinking it.
I actually drank Dr. Pepper for years. But after I was pregnant, I developed a craving for Coke. We were living in New York City when New Coke was introduced on April 23, 1985. This was a red letter date, as all dates pertaining to Coca-Cola are “red letter” dates. My taste buds knew instantly that New Coke was just a sad-ass version of Pepsi. What I loved about Coca-Cola was its battery acid tang.
Disgusted, I switched back to Dr. Pepper and cultivated a friendship with a woman whose husband managed the Gramercy Park Hotel, because the hotel had a stockpile of “old” Coke. It was like Prohibition, only the stakes were higher. When the New Coke fiasco ended (a little less than three months later on July 10th), old Coke was re-christened Coca-Cola Classic. Ah! It was back to my daily 14 ounces of sugar, caramel syrup, and caffeine – which I personally think deserves its own category on the food pyramid.
Yeah, I’ve heard all the stories about how, if you put a metal spoon in a glass of Coke overnight, it will be eaten away by the morning. But, I have an iron-clad stomach and am of the opinion that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. So I take take my Coke like I take my vitamins – once a day.
Close Encounter with a Narcissist – Part 2 July 31, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Health, Life, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Personal, Personality Disorders
29 comments
Please read/reread “Close Encounter with a Narcissist – Part 1” before reading Part 2. You’ll find it in Top Posts in the column at the right. If you access it through Tags or Categories under Narcissistic Personality Disorder, you have to scroll down past Part 2 to reach Part 1. Note: In Part 2, I’ll refer to a person with Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) simply as a narcissist.
I was mulling over how to begin Part 2 when I happened upon a card in a shop. On the front it said, “Wonder if you looked deep inside yourself and found out no one was home?” The inside of the card was blank. What a perfect analogy for a narcissist!
Remember, that to avoid further hurt and abandonment, the child’s True Self retreated into a virtual human “panic room” to hide. There the immature child remains protected, but mortally wounded. His ability to emotionally bond with another human has been “disabled.” The carefully crafted social mask, known as the False Self, is now firmly in place.
The False Self embodies everything the child is not, so the narcissist often projects an image of being all knowing and all powerful. I’m in charge here! I’m an authority! The narcissist is able to fly under most people’s radar because he can actually be quite charming when it suits him, or if he needs something from someone. You might even be tempted to think he is “normal.” Think again. Although the narcissist has matured physically and intellectually, emotionally he is a kindergartener who won’t share and doesn’t play well with others.
There’s a reason I chose the title Close Encounter with a Narcissist, and it’s not because I’m a big Stephen Spielberg fan. Only those people who dare to get too “close” to a narcissist see him drop his social mask. Since most of the narcissist’s abuse takes place behind closed doors, there are no witnesses.
For four months, I was Joe’s confidante and “go to” person. After my encounter with Joe, I talked to several people who knew him. These were people whom Joe regarded as part of his “inner circle,” yet when I asked them about Joe, they confessed they knew very little about him. Oh, there were those odd and inappropriate comments he’d make from time to time. “But, that’s just the way Joe is,” they shrugged, adding, “Besides, who’d want to get to know him better. He’s so weird!” Sheepishly, I raised my hand.
Humans – What are they good for?
Now I want to share the ugliest secret of the narcissist, the thing I found impossible to imagine, let alone to believe.
If the narcissist doesn’t think of other humans as caring others, then how does he view them? The answer is, as things, i.e., mirrors. The mirror has one purpose. It’s to reflect back to the narcissist the image his False Self projects to the world. Period.
When I first read about this, the idea that a human = a thing just didn’t make sense. I’d spent hours listening to Joe recount stories of traumatic events from his childhood. Never mind that if I brought up my family or my life, Joe could barely stifle a yawn. I imagined myself as Joe’s safe haven. And I have to admit, I enjoyed this role. Maybe it’s a maternal thing. I have two sons and also have a younger brother. I imagined Joe thought, “I can be myself with her.” So I wasn’t a THING! Things are to be used. But, that’s just what Joe did. He used me.
Let’s face it. One mirror is as good as the next and I was just one of Joe’s many mirrors. Every time I listened attentively and nodded my head or smiled, this was confirmation to Joe that the grandiose image his False Self projected to the world was, in fact, real. He liked the reflection of himself that he saw in my mirror. He found it flattering.
Joe’s co-workers and neighbors were also mirrors. The narcissist thinks of all these lesser people as human “wallpaper” like you’d have on your computer or cell phone. Something pleasant to look at in the background. Period.
My attention – anyone’s attention, whether it be positive or negative, verified to Joe that he existed. This is what’s known as Narcissistic Supply (NS). Drugs are to an addict as NS is to a narcissist.
Narcissists as Emotional Vampires
Narcissists are frequently compared to vampires and it’s not just because of that mirror thing. Narcissists are eternally seeking the life force of another, that perfect someone who will fill their inner void. They’re drawn to people who are vital and possess the very qualities they’re sadly lacking – empathy and a love of life.
I realized there were many things about me and my life that Joe envied. My energy. My social ease. My creativity. It was as though Joe hoped to expropriate these qualities by associating with me.
What the narcissist doesn’t understand is that what’s missing from his life is not someone, but something. It’s that something he never received in childhood, and it’s not something that can be “found.” Although their False Self projects confidence and knowledge, the inner life of the narcissist is emotionally barren. Their True Self is locked away. No one is at home.
D&D or Humans as Disposable Plastic Forks
Since most narcissists are men, that perfect someone is most likely a woman. But when it comes to relationships, narcissists are like robots with one foot nailed to the floor, destined to go round and round in a circle. This cycle has three phases: Idealization, Devalue, and Discard (D&D). This is the script and it never varies. Because of the narcissist’s magical thinking, he actually believes it’s possible do the same thing over and over again and each time the result will be different.
During the initial Idealization phase, the woman is put on a pedestal by the narcissist, who is almost giddy with excitement. He is like a small child anticipating a present. The narcissist is on his best behavior – charming, energetic, and seemingly caring.
Joe was a chronic flirt and always kept his phone on speakerphone. So I got to hear his convoluted conversations with women he was pursuing. It was painful listening to a woman explain to Joe that she wasn’t interested in him romantically, as he looked over and gave me a knowing wink. ”So what time should I pick you up?” he’d ask. Narcissists don’t like it when people say “No” to them. Joe even admitted he’d been told he had “boundary issues.”
Another woman told Joe he lacked basic conversational skills so he went out and purchased a package of instructional tapes to boost his vocabulary. I tried to explain to Joe that his vocabulary wasn’t the issue, but he really didn’t get it. ”Did you notice how I already inserted the word ‘cache’ into the conversation,” he said proudly. He continued to badger this woman until she finally stood him up.
You see, what a narcissist loves most is the chase. Once a woman actually shows any real interest in him, well, this is the beginning of the end. Huh?
As a Cross is to a Vampire: Emotional Intimacy is to a Narcissist
Whether you’re someone’s friend or their lover, there’s an expectation that as you get to know each other, you’ll grow closer. Ideally, familiarity breeds content. Not so with a narcissist. Remember, the narcissist is not capable of establishing a genuine emotional bond with another human. So for a narcissist, familiarity breeds contempt. A narcissist dreads emotional intimacy because it requires him to actually care and the best he can do is feign caring. When you are someone’s friend or lover, they naturally have expectations. Narcissists hate expectations and feel suffocated by them.
I have a close friend who was involved with a narcissist. A therapist told her that anyone involved with a narcissist should know that person is always looking over their shoulder. No, not backwards, but over YOUR shoulder, because a narcissist is always on the lookout for the next best thing. Like small children, they’re easily bored.
So when the idealized woman begins to exhibit “human” traits, e.g., caring, emotions, or expectations of emotional intimacy, the narcissist is repulsed and prepares to move on.
Remember, the narcissist’s mother emotionally abandoned him, so he is determined to never be abandoned again. This time he’ll abandon HER first. (Again, any woman can play the role of Mom) In fact, he’ll even engage in crazy-making behavior to hasten this cycle. If you apply “human” logic to sort this out, you’re doomed to get one very large headache. It’s just their nature. It’s how they’re hardwired.
When a Mirror Malfunctions
If you’re a narcissist, you want your mirrors to reflect a flattering image of you. Personally, I like mirrors that take 10 pounds off, and avoid one mirror in particular that highlights the scowl line on my forehead. So it is with the narcissist. When the image his mirror reflects back to him is less than flattering, it’s time to trade up. You’ve heard the expression, “Don’t shoot the messenger.” But what if the messenger (that annoying mirror) is delivering a message you don’t want to hear? If you’re a narcissist, this is a no brainer. Reach for the ammo.
Shooting the messenger aka Devaluation takes many forms: A snide or dismissive remark here, a sarcastic jab there, an odd, critical comment, an inappropriate sexual innuendo. Each designed to chip away at the other’s self-esteem and allow the narcissist to gain the upper hand. The victim is left reeling and wondering, “Why would he say something so cruel?”
When Joe would say something mean out of the blue, it totally took me off guard. By the time I recovered from the sheer shock of this hit, he’d already moved on. It left me doubting my own sanity. I thought we were friends. So what was THAT about?
Time and time again, Joe sought me out just to talk or to solicit my advice. I’m a natural nurturer so when someone asks for my help, I spring to action. When Joe had questions about a shaky real estate venture, I hooked him up with a friend who knew that market. When he was considering taking another job, I arranged for Joe to meet with someone who’d actually overseen that job, so he could get the inside track.
What I didn’t realize was that a narcissist is most likely to devalue someone he owes gratitude to because asking for help damages his image. So the narcissist repays help (even though he asked for it) as though it were an insult. He must devalue the giver or it, as if such a contemptible person is incapable of really helping someone as grand as he. And that’s exactly what Joe did.
Let me give you an example from my own D&D experience. This occurred behind closed doors so there are no witnesses, But I was there and this conversation is seared in my memory.
I’d been working in my garden pruning roses and hadn’t bothered to wear gloves. As a result, my forearms were crisscrossed with scratches.
Joe sauntered in. ”It looks like you tried to slit your wrists!” he said.
“As you can see, I’m directionally challenged!” was my reply. (I’m a hopeless smart ass)
“Well, next time you want do it let me know and I’ll help you,” Joe said, matter-of-factly.
Then smiling, he continued, “Better yet, I’ll do it for you to make sure you get the job done!”
Now, I’d had a very difficult day, so I actually winced when Joe said that. It didn’t strike me as funny. It hurt my feelings. I felt my face turn red and my eyes welled up with tears.
“What’s the matter? Joe asked. ”Are we thin-skinned?” He had a smirk on his face.
I dried my eyes and told Joe he reminded me of a child who professes to love animals, then pokes the old bear in the cage at the zoo with a stick. Joe began laughing hysterically. I’d never seen him laugh so loud and so long.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
Joe was so doubled over with laughter he could barely get the words out. “It’s not an old bear,” he said. ”It’s an old toothless lion with no fur left on its tail!” This sent him into another hysterical fit of laughter.
Now, I’m older than Joe and have a mane of red hair, so I instinctively knew “who” the lion was. Watching his glee at my expense was a revelation. Joe had dropped his mask and what was behind the mask? A cruel, selfish child, reduced to taunting another human.
Joe was my friend, but friends don’t hurt each other, at least not on purpose. The hardest part was realizing that I never really “knew” Joe at all. ”Wonder if you looked deep inside yourself and found out no one was home?” What a sad life, indeed. But don’t feel sorry for the narcissist. Feel sorry for his victims, because the narcissist doesn’t give them a second thought. He’s already moved on to the next best thing.
I know I didn’t tell you there was going to be a quiz, but I’m a teacher. It’s MY nature. Besides, I know you got a perfect score on the quiz at the end of Part 1. To pass, all you have to do is complete the following analogy:
As a cross is to a vampire; ________ __________ is to a narcissist.
Sorry, but I don’t have the technical capabilities to put the answer upside down at the bottom. So, if you’re stumped, you can scroll back and reread. Only you know that you’re cheating. To be honest, I don’t care. What’s important to me is that, in the end, you get it.
Part 3 (The final installment): Three BIG Red Flags of NPD; Grandiosity and Lack of Empathy; Cerebral vs. Somatic Narcissists; The Myth of Healing the Narcissist; Life After the Narcissist; and Acknowledgments.
Photo credit: Unicorn Mask by Matty on flickr.
Click on this link to read Close Encounter with a Narcissist – Part 3.
Done with the Sun July 23, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Health.Tags: Health, Humor, Lacquered Parasol, Spring Break, Spring Break in Padre Island, Sunbathing, Sunburn
1 comment so far
It’s no secret. I’m white, but not white like raw chicken. I like to point out that although I have red hair, I don’t have freckles. My mother always said I was lucky to get my father’s olive complexion. As a child, I found this confusing because when I held up a cocktail olive next to my skin, I couldn’t see a match.
Last year I decided that a hat, sunglasses, and sun block were no longer enough. I bought a lacquer-coated paper parasol like the ones I’ve seen Asian women carrying. I read that for many Asians, it’s more of a cultural thing. Historically, having a tan was a dead giveaway that you worked in the fields. In the store, all folded up, the parasol looked like it had Chinese characters on it. I imagined they said “Prosperity” or “Abundance.” But when I got the parasol home and opened it, those Chinese characters said “Skull and Crossbones.” Oops!
I wondered if this image, which I associate with a label that screams POISON, might alarm my students, so I worked on my comeback line. ”The sun is like poison to my skin,” I’d say. I needn’t have bothered. The first day I carried my parasol, a crowd of children yelled, Pirates of the Caribbean!
When students asked where I’d gotten my parasol, I took to telling them I got it from a pirate who was in touch with his feminine side. They’d walk off looking rather confused, but then I like to give kids something to think about.
What I’m going to say next is a little awkward seeing as I’m always the person reminding everyone to put on that SPF 60 sun block 30 minutes before they even think of going outside.
Right now the skin on my back is the color of the pimento in that cocktail olive from so long ago. Yes, I have a sunburn. How could this have happened?
I went to the beach to meet my friends. I don’t even like to go to the beach unless it’s at sunset or during the winter, but I do like my friends so I made what’s called a Small Sacrifice. But then I did a bad, bad thing. It was a gray cloudy day. I was wearing a top with spaghetti straps and had my back to where the sun should have been. By the time it occurred to me that maybe I should put on sun block, my back was toast.
I’ve never understood those people who could spend an inordinate amount of time just lying in the sun with their eyes shut. It’s like being a professional napper. Growing up in Omaha, laying out on a towel in the grass just left you looking like a piece of meat set out on a place mat for the mosquitoes.
My Aunt Lou from California used to come for a visit. She was a bonafide sun worshipper and could have played “Leatherface” in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre movies sans make-up. She was what you call a walking Cautionary Tale.
I did have a great tan – once. One Spring Break in college, five of us drove 18 hours from Lawrence, Kansas to Padre Island, Texas, where we proceeded to dedicate ourselves to getting a tan the first day. We were young and full of attitude, so we failed to factor in the change in latitude. If so, we might have realized that laying out in the mid-day sun for four hours sauteeing in baby oil wasn’t a good idea.
Sometime in the middle of that first night, I was awakened by the anguished cries of my friends, who’d cast off their sheets. They now resembled two-legged lobsters hissing in a pot of boiling water. By the next morning, I felt like the night watchman at the morgue. I was flushed, but thanks to my olive complexion, at least I could stand up. My friends pleaded with me to go find a remedy for this hell that was called Spring Break.
I walked over to the manager’s apartment and explained our dilemma to an elderly couple. I could tell they’d heard this story before. They motioned for me to follow them outside where they they hacked off a spike from a gigantic green alien life form.
Now, you have to understand that we didn’t have succulents in Kansas, except for small potted ones at the dime store, and they could have been made of rubber for all I know. I learned that this miraculous plant had a name – Aloe Vera. I was informed that it worked on nuclear burns as well. This was before you could buy aloe vera at every grocery and drugstore, so it all seemed very exotic. When I’d left my friends they were nearing nuclear meltdown, so I figured it was worth a try.
I returned brandishing the foot-long green pointy thing and announced that THIS was the cure. I’m not sure what my friends expected, but it wasn’t THAT! I slit open the spike and scraped out the gooey green insides. My friends lined up and I slathered the sticky paste over their backs, one-by-one, as they yelped in pain. Then, one-by-one, they stopped crying. I’d found the cure!
We avoided the beach the rest of our Spring Break. Later, I heard about two students who had such bad sunburns, they were flown by helicopter to the nearest hospital. So, in hindsight, my friends got off easy. It also helped that this was pre Girls Gone Wild.
A week after we’d returned to Kansas, I was sporting a bleached muslin Mexican shirt and the ultimate tan. By the time it began peeling a week later, I didn’t care cause I was back to wearing long sleeves. For some things, once is enough. So, I’m done with the sun. That is, as soon as my back is done peeling.
Close Encounter with a Narcissist – Part 1 July 5, 2008
Posted by alwaysjan in Narcissistic Personality Disorder.Tags: Health, Life, Narcissism, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Personality Disorders
21 comments
When you’re used to writing with a humorous edge, there’s always the danger that when you have something important, albeit serious, to say, no one will take you seriously. I’m willing to take that chance.
I’m writing this because, first, I want to expunge any lingering demons from my own close encounter with a narcissist. Even more important, as an educator, I’d like to see information about Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) become common knowledge. Can you remember back to when you first heard about ADHD or OCD? Even now, you might not know all there is to know (that’s what Wikipedia is for!), but at least you know these disorders are for real. So is NPD. There will be a quiz at the end. Hey, I’m a teacher, and I need to check for understanding.
When most people think of a narcissist, they picture someone obsessed with their physical appearance. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall…” I’d certainly never heard of Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), a real-deal condition laid out in the DSM-IV. But being an experiential learner, I had to learn the hard way. Now I’m an armchair detective in the study of this condition, and I’m finally ready to talk.
I make no excuses for lacking medical or psychological credentials. Narcissists are an elusive breed, so you won’t find them in a therapist’s office embarking on a journey of introspection. When my husband was on jury duty, another potential juror was a therapist. When asked about NPD, the therapist sadly shook his head. ”I’ve actually never seen a client with NPD because they’re convinced they don’t have a problem,” he said. “But they leave a high body count,” he added. ”Their victims are the people who come to see me.”
No wonder. A close encounter with a narcissist can leave you doubting your own sanity. The victim, and there is a victim, is left shaking her head wondering, “What just happened?” (I’ll use the female pronoun since it’s believed that the 50-75 percent of those with NPD are men) Want to get those party guests who’ve overstayed their welcome to leave? Just start talking about NPD. If you try to explain the disorder to friends or family, they look at you like you’re discussing alien abduction or as if you’ve grown another head.
I haven’t sprouted another head yet, have I? Good. Because it’s highly likely you know someone who has NPD. Most likely, they’re flying under your radar. Narcissists make nice to people who are in the position to do something for them, or to people who just don’t have a speaking role in the grand production that is their life. Only those who dare to get emotionally close to a narcissist get to see them drop their carefully crafted social mask.
The DSM - Not A Summer Read
The Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV) is a hefty tome and is the handbook for mental health professionals. I once trekked to the public library to consult it, after I was told by a therapist that a mutual friend suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder. What on earth? I imagined someone teetering on the edge of sanity, in danger of falling overboard. When I finally read the diagnostic criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder, all of the pieces fell into place. There was my friend. I had to sit down to catch my breath. If only I’d kept reading, I would have learned about NPD as well.
My friend with NPD, I’ll call him Joe, entered my orbit through a shared common interest. He seemed intrigued by my enthusiasm and talent. In retrospect, I think he was most drawn to me because although I’m a natural talker, I can also be a good listener. He struck me as someone who needed to talk, but was socially awkward. Initially, I found this endearing. If there was a lull in the conversation, he’d blurt out the strangest comment that had nothing whatsoever to do with what we’d been talking about. I overlooked these gaffes or mentally made excuses for them. He’s obviously uncomfortable talking to women. He’s from a different culture. English is his second language. He had a difficult childhood. He’s just outspoken.
Then one day Joe said something so cruel to me, I can still feel its sting. My eyes welled up with tears. “What’s the matter?” he asked, still smiling. ”Are we thin-skinned?” I realized he was relishing my discomfort. It was creepy. After he left, I replayed the encounter in my head. Then replayed it again. Maybe I’d read too much into it. Later, I would be angry that I didn’t listen to my gut instinct.
Two days later, Joe stopped by to talk. It was as though nothing had ever happened. When I tried to bring the subject up, he dismissed my concern with a wave of the hand, “Nobody got hurt,” he proclaimed. What an odd comment to make, I thought. It left a bad taste in my mouth. Then, based on a hunch, I googled “narcissism.” I discovered there was so much I didn’t know.
DSM–IV Criteria for Diagnosis of Narcissistic Personality Disorder
To make a diagnosis of NPD, at least five of the following nine behaviors must be evident. Remember that most narcissists are diagnosed in absentia since they’re loath to seek professional help. The comments in bold italics are mine.
1. An exaggerated sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements) Think- Grandiosity accompanied by its sidekick Magical Thinking. He’s so full of himself, he’s convinced he can do anything.
2. Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love. Think “The Secret.” My talents know no bounds!
3. Believes he is “special” and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions) Think – I’m unique, therefore I’m misunderstood.
4. Requires excessive admiration Think – Look at me Mom! (Any woman can play the role of Mom.)
5. Has a sense of entitlement Think – That doesn’t apply to me!
6. Selfishly takes advantage of others to achieve his own ends Think – You’re just lucky I chose you to be of service to me, as spending time in my presence is reward enough.
7. Lacks empathy Think – It’s killing me to even pretend that I’m interested in your life or concerns. Your feelings make me feel uncomfortable so get over it!
8. Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him. Think-You have something I want. Can I borrow it so it can become mine?
9. Shows arrogant, haughty, patronizing, or contemptuous behaviors or attitudes. Think – All this time I just thought he was an @sshole!
Developmental Narcissism
Narcissism, itself, is not inherently bad and is even developmentally appropriate. Children until the age of six are naturally narcissistic. They’re inherently egocentric and “Mine!” is their mantra. This is normal. As children grow older, they become more aware of the needs of others. Prodded by their parents, they learn to share. They learn to take turns. Reluctantly, they relinquish the spotlight.
Adolescents are also prone to narcissistic behavior. “You can’t tell me anything I don’t already know!” punctuated with a slamming door. This kind of narcissism is remedied when real life smacks them with a dose of reality. Mom and dad sever the financial pipeline, or their boss doesn’t find it cute that they were late to work again. Adolescents don’t grow out of it. They grow up.
Many adults show narcissistic traits, which can render them fairly obnoxious at times. But that doesn’t mean they have NPD. If you’re wondering about some of your own less-than-admirable traits, that’s proof positive that you’re NOT a narcissist. Narcissists are convinced that they’re perfect just the way they are. It’s other people who have the problem. Other people, as in the rest of the world. You just need to accept them the way they are. But that’s your problem.
Personality Disorder vs. Mental Illness
How is a personality disorder different from mental illness? I had a hard time initially wrapping my head around this one. A mental illness (schizophrenia being the most widely known) can be treated, with varying degrees of success, with medications or cognitive therapy. Most mental illnesses are caused by brain cell synaptic disruptions, most of which are believed to be genetic in origin. I have friends who are bipolar and as long as they take their meds, any symptoms subside and they feel and act relatively “normal.” Mental illnesses typically present themselves in late adolescence or early adulthood. The onset of the mental illness is often sudden and profound. A mental illness descends over a person’s personality like a heavy wool blanket feels on an already warm summer night.
A personality disorder, on the other hand, is all pervasive. The DSM-IV describes a personality disorder as “an enduring pattern of inner experience and behavior that deviates markedly from the expectation of the individual’s culture, is pervasive and inflexible, has an onset in adolescence or early adulthood, is stable over time, and leads to distress or impairment.”
With mental illness, a person’s personality is blanketed, or suffocated, by the onset of the mental illness. But the personality of someone with a personality disorder is virtually interwoven into every fiber of that blanket. Unravel the blanket and you unravel their personality.
So someone doesn’t have a personality disorder; they ARE the personality disorder. These personality traits are so deeply ingrained that they defy change. That brings me to Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD).
An Analogy
Calcutta, India has the highest population density of any city on Earth, most of whom live in wretched poverty. Because only central Calcutta is serviced by sewers, during the monsoon season, raw sewage floods the streets. Helping the poor of Calcutta was Mother Teresa’s life’s work.
I had a friend who spent most of his childhood in Calcutta. One day we were shopping and he asked me to tell him which cologne smelled the best. He claimed to have no sense of smell. I was incredulous. My friend said rather matter-of-factly that he’d lost his sense of smell when he lived in India. He didn’t seem to view this as any sort of disability, for this “loss” he said, had spared him from smelling the stench of humanity in Calcutta.
Now, I lived in New York City for 11 years, so I know first hand that there are smells worse than death. I saw how one homeless man, passed out and simmering in his own juices, could empty an entire subway car during the peak of rush hour. Just a whiff of a decomposing rat could make me retch.
But though this “loss” protected my friend against the putrid odors of Calcutta, it also robbed him of the ability to enjoy the sweet fragrance of night-blooming jasmine, the crisp smell of fresh basil, or the garlicky preview of a dinner to come. It was all or nothing. A package deal.
Are you still with me? Because I’m going to ask you to take a big step now.
Picture a small child, totally dependent on his mother to meet his emotional needs. Now what if it’s not putrid odors that assault the child’s senses, but human interactions themselves. A neglectful, abusive, or even an indifferent mother who leaves the child constantly feeling emotionally adrift. Or a dominating mother who won’t allow the child to be himself.
Just like my friend, who “lost” his sense of smell, some children, as a coping mechanism to survive the pain of emotional abandonment, tune out the very people who are inflicting the injury. But again, it’s a package deal, because the child tunes out all other humans as well. It’s as though the child “loses” his sense of people. People in the sense that they are caring others. It’s a high price to pay, but it protects the child from future emotional hurt. The child’s immature True Self is “safe” behind a psychological mask. This mask is what’s referred to in psychiatry as the False Self. Unable to trust those who should be nearest and dearest, the child turns his attention to someone who will never abandon him - himself.
The False Self not only protects the child from further injury. It embodies everything the child is not. While the child is powerless and vulnerable, the False Self of the narcissist presents itself as all knowing and all powerful. But behind the mask of the False Self, lies an injured child. An emotional embryo.
Now if you’re a caring person, at this point you probably feel sorry for this child. Don’t bother – it’s too late. The child doesn’t feel sorry for you. This poor little child is now an adult. And it’s time for the victim to become the victimizer.
After I learned about NPD, I continued to be Joe’s “go to” person for several months. I so wanted to be wrong. It was only with my newly gained knowledge that I was able to fully see him for what he was, or more importantly, for what he wasn’t.
But what about the quiz, you ask? Just answer one simple question. If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s a _ _ _ _. Congratulations! You passed!
PART 2 The End Game of Devalue and Discard; Meet the Adult Narcissist; Humans = Things, Emotional Vampirism, and the answer to this analogy: As a CROSS is to a VAMPIRE; ____________ _____________ is to a NARCISSIST.
Click on the this link to read “Close Encounter with a Narcissist – Part 2″
Photo credit: Unicorn Mask by Matty on flickr.
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