A little while ago, when I was trapped in my own personal hell, I began trying to have an impact (again) on someone who isn't a narcissist but plays one in my head. There is no doubt that the person has narcissistic defense mechanisms, but the operative word here is Defense - like putting plywood over your windows when a hurricane is brewing. We all have our stress behaviors and defenses.
That's the trouble with self-worth, identity, voicelessness and perceptual distortions - you never know when you've got something right or if you've thought something up in the quest for the Corrective Experience.
The trouble is that I'm so adept at running a scenario in my head by including or ignoring details from real life that facilitate my mind's systematic race toward a solution that when the wind from Hurricane Trish dies down, I can't tell my head from my ass.
At least I've got my sense of humor back. That may have something to do with The Artist from the South of France, but I deserve some credit for charging into the Battle of the Incest Issue. Now that I'm coming out the other side, I have started to relax and have some fun again. I also took a lot more time than I usually do when it came to choosing a man to have fun with. Quite possibly, it pays to be selective. We'll see how that develops, but I suspect I have a date for New Years.
Que sera sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera sera
Doris Day in The Glass Bottom Boat