awareness – writingsformydaughters

You must’ve celebrated your birthday yesterday because, well … how could you not? You’re a narcissist.

You didn’t send any wishes my way on my birthday. That’s okay. You gave me a much bigger gift: a realization. What did I realize? That you’re a thief because you literally and metaphorically stole from me? That you’re a pathological liar because you cannot keep your stories straight? That you’re unreliable because you never keep your promises? That you’re manipulative because you gaslight women? That you have a superiority complex because you refuse to respect any authoritative figures?

Nah. I already had those things figured out. You were so obvious with them. All of the signs. They were always there. I just chose to ignore them.

Your actions allowed me to realize that I am not a victim.

I learned that humans such as yourself (ones who constantly take) gravitate towards humans like me (ones who constantly give). A leech of your caliber will suck their prey dry and move on to the next. Often times, there is more than one person at a time that you mindfuck.

My realization allowed me to forgive myself for trusting you; for being vulnerable. Because it means that I was brave.

So – thank you for that.

Forgiving myself was nearly unbearable. But I did it. Forgiving you though? It’s currently out of the question. Maybe when justice has been served and you’ve been put in your place (the fiery pits of hell), I’ll consider it. Maybe when I’ve spread the word about you and so many others like you, to prevent innocent women from being denigrated the way I’ve been, I’ll consider forgiving you.

My birthday wish for you:

May you lose sleep over your corrupt lifestyle. May you lose your sense of entitlement. May you become educated. May you put the needs of your children before your own. May you admit to your wrongdoings. May you shed your many layers of facades and lies, finding peace in accepting who you truly are (the scum of the earth). May you gain a sense of work ethic. May you give back what you have taken.

Life is a temporary thing. That’s why I’ll never allow a narcissist into my life or my daughters’ lives again. You, too, should consider that our days are not promised and that life is not guaranteed. You can pretend and pretend until you die, but you aren’t fooling anyone but your slithering self. Riding on other people’s successes does not make you successful. Stealing money from others does not make you rich. Believing your own lies does not make you truthful. You gotta face your demons like everyone else on this earth does, and put an end to being a demon yourself.

Sincerely, the best thing that ever happened to you.

IMG_7993_1 It wasn’t because I ate too much or too little.

It was sharp, severe, unforgiving, and in the center of my being. And it wasn’t going away.

I was just under 10 years old, and when I started to miss school because of the pain, my mom thought it was time to visit a doctor. Our family doctor set up an appointment at the hospital for me, where they would shove a long, thin tube with a little camera lens on the bottom of it, down my esophagus.

Awake through the whole procedure, scared, crying, cold from that backless hospital gown, gagging and calling out for my mom while two nurses stood above me. All I remember about them was their voices (“no, no dear, don’t do that”) and their heads floating above me, with a huge florescent light behind them. I just wanted it all to be over.

But this was just the beginning. Multiple ultrasounds followed, along with having to drink a disgusting thick goo of chalk, and finally being prescribed these large, white horse-pills for the pain.

“Reflux-esophagitis”, the doctor concluded, was the diagnosis.

I was given a booklet of all the foods and beverages I could no longer consume, and sent on my merry way.

The pain didn’t go away. It was always there. And eventually, I gave in to it and assented to it just being a part of me.

It took several years to realize and understand that the physical pain I experienced was not a result of acid reflux or poor diet. Unfortunately back then, parents and doctors were not too familiar with, nor spoke very fluidly of mental illness.

The stomach pain was a direct result of depression and anxiety.

If you had asked me to describe it when I was a child, I might have said something along the lines of, “feeling like a knife is stabbing me between my ribs.” If I ever had to guess what being stabbed felt like, perhaps this was it.

The sad thing is, that even today, twenty something years later, people still aren’t comfortable talking about depression, or any other mental illness. One of the reasons why is because not many people have been educated on it, unless they know someone they are close to who has suffered from it, or because of a relative, etc. Outside of extenuating circumstances, people just don’t talk about it or learn about it or educate on it.

I want to change that.

Starting now.

How’s your tummy feeling today?

Tag: awareness

Dear Narcissist,

Mommy, my tummy hurts.