Attracted to The Narcissist

One of the ugliest things I've learned about being raised by a narcissist is that I'm drawn to them. In all that is disgusting about narcissists, I find myself attracted to them.

Yeah, I know it's part of it.

Knowing helps some, but I really must figure out why, specifically, it is that I find myself drawn to them. I have no illusions about helping an n to change or to earn their love/respect/acknowledgement of my existence.

At least now that I know the attraction exists and know what that there's-something-about-this-person-that-doesn't-make-sense feeling is all about, I can steer clear.

I went looking for my "favourite" narcissist on-line today. I read recently a suggestion that when one looks at a narcissist to think of them as being two years-old inside. It helped immensely as I found photographs today. It gave me a good chuckle where there previously there was only discomfort. I remember a time when I came to that point with my narcissistic father. I watched him pitch a fit, a temper tantrum that every self-respecting toddler would have been proud to throw, and my eyes were opened. From that point on, his rages weren't nearly as scary. On the contrary, they were quite amusing. Imagine a grown man behaving like a naughty two year-old. If only I'd had a video camera....

I'm off to do a bit more searching for my favourite mentioned above. Hopefully the more chuckles I can get, and the more realistic comprehension that comes with it, I can become free of being haunted by people and places that remind me of this n.

Saying Goodbye

It was odd when I learned that my father would soon die. I felt no emotion, no grief or sadness. It was a very matter of fact thing. In the more than five years since he died, it hasn't changed. I don't miss him. I had a chance to try to talk to him about things that are important to me before he died, but he preferred to lecture me. I tried; I have peace.

Having heard all those heart-warming stories of parents reconciling with their adult children when told they would die soon, I quietly hoped. I was naive enough to hope that his impending death would cause him to look at his life and perhaps try to mend fences, get closer to family, take advantage to enjoy the life he had left. Nope. He became even more bitter and angry. If my mother didn't get him his medication as fast as he wanted it, he'd grit his teeth and curse her slowness. He continuously lectured me about what I should stand for in my life and what I should find important. On Father's Day, he railed that his civil rights had been violated since the city government had outlawed the serving of beer on Sunday.

I suppose that's probably a common marker of narcissists: even pending death doesn't effect them in the same way it does other people. My father took a look at life and he was disappointed, not because of the choices he made, but because of what life didn't give him.