I think there are three levels: tornado, popcorn, and spinning plates. For the last day or so I've been in popcorn, but am headed toward a tornado. That's the wrong direction. I need to head toward spinning plates. Popcorn is the most common recently. It's late at night right now, and I'm feeling tornado-y, but I'm tired. I'm going to add a fourth level: I sent my Child's Bedtime Story to my therapist, Malissa, and she asked, "What ending do you want?" This is what I said. Let's throw it up in the air and see if it stays up there. Being as fully functioning and independent an adult as my own personal limitations will allow me to be.
I want autonomy, and I want to be happy about it.
I'm trying to delve into narcissism and know what it is and isn't because I'm going to need to know the dragon if I intend to slay it. (Slay the effect it's had and is having on my life, not on the narcissist herself. To be clear.) Is my dad a narcissist too? Nah. Probably not. I think he's just a toxic existentialist. And an artist. And part Russian. And raised in a tightwire family in a freaking traveling circus. He never had a prayer of turning out decent, let alone kind. And he should never, ever, ever have procreated. Not and stuck around. |