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When It Doesn’t Fit


I can hear the Deli Man now in my head: “What about me?!” Well, I didn’t forget you, but I don’t know anything else about you. I’d be your #1 fangirl if you let me. For the rest of your life, actually. But, if you don’t want that, tell me already so I can nip this in the bud. It’s rude to allow unrequited love to bloom. I should know.

Anyway, I’ll continue the one subject I’m an expert at: ME! I don’t mean to talk all about me, but what else is there? “Oh, it looked like rain today. I love rain.” Oh wait, that’s about me already. I swear some people probably think I’m a narcissist because I relate to everything personally, but I’m really not. I’m not a person who superimposes my ideas and will over others. I’m not someone who says, “It’s my way or the highway!” (However, God will definitely tell you that. He’s a character, wouldn’t you know? Actually, about 50 of them.) I’m also not vain, which is common amongst narcissists.

I also don’t buy into the narcissistic view of the world. You might wonder what that is… think about it a minute on your own. I don’t want to lead you to my own answer without giving you space for yours. (See what I’m doing here?)

(Wait, that’s not proof.)

Ready now?

(Maybe… what’s she going to say now?)

They don’t think they deserve to be happy. Everything has to be perfect. The stars must align in order for happiness to occur. They are too invested in making sure they look perfect to everyone else to simply stop and reflect on their lives and make the one choice that matters in the morning: to be happy.

The closer you are to the narcissist, the more cracks you can see in their façade of perfection, the more they fall apart. They’ll gladly take you with the, too. They have a flawed fundamental belief that they are not worth anything unless they are perfect, which I’d posit was forced upon them by someone they’d call an elder in their own youth. That’s right. They’re taught to hate themselves because someone else didn’t love them during the critical moments in their childhood.

Screw that! Perfection is a MYTH!


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