I am a narcissist. I am a horrible person. I need to find courage to end this.

Discussion in 'Welcome' started by JiggusMcPherson, Jul 31, 2016.

  1. JiggusMcPherson

    JiggusMcPherson New Member

    I had lunch with my son, today. He is 13 and I have not had quality time with him for months. It was relatively wonderful.



    Still, I found myself obsessing about a woman, a dance teacher and ex-professional ballet dancer, who was my first relationship after separating from my wife of 15 years, about two years ago. As much as I do not believe in mythology, I find it amusing to note that this woman, with her dyed black long tresses, and her crook nose, may be, in fact, the stereotypical evil witch

    This ex-ballet dancer, whom I thought was the love of my life, abandoned me on 01 January 2016, sneaking out in the early morning hours, after we had made passionate love, ending in vows of “I love you so” to each other. She ran out in the dark of an Alberta winter’s morning, ending a one-year romance. Running away and changing her travel plans on the fly, leaving a note that I did not see until after I called her cell phone to listen to her cold voice tell me, “It’s not you it’s me,” as she took a shuttle bus to the airport. She further “clarified” that she “needed” to be back in her own home.

    I was destroyed. I have never felt such emotional pain as I did that morning --and I thought that the death of my father was abysmal. I felt shame, betrayal, humiliation, shock, anger, incredulity, and shattering feelings of abandonment. I am still destroyed. What kind of woman does that to someone she supposedly loved for one year? She was my true love, I thought, yet she did that to me. She showed such cowardice, such disrespect, such cruelty (leaving on New Year’s Day?), such narcissism, and such shallowness, yet, I cannot get over what she did nor, it seems, can I get over her.

    I understand that her life as a ballet dancer and as a “contemporary” dancer means that she likely has, and had, no problems with casual dalliances with men, and lots of anonymous sex. That is what they do, and how they get roles and gigs.


    Alas, I am not like that. I have had less, well less, than 10 lovers in my 52 years of life, and I remember all of them and their names. I doubt that this woman can do the same, and I am sure that all the cocks she has sucked or jerked off do not count as sex to her, and that that number must be somewhere in the hundreds, if not thousands. Ballet dancers, dancers, in general, seem to be a step above – or below – “common” prostitutes, though “common” prostitutes are surely much nicer people than these shallow, pretentious “artists” are.



    I wrote grant proposals for this woman, I helped her with her resume, I wrote music for her dance school in Victoria, I took ballroom dance lessons for her, I wrote poems and a love song for her, and she ran away in the early morning hours of New Year’s Day, 2016, without a gram of respect for me or an ounce of sympathy for my feelings. What kind of person does that? A narcissistic, cowardly, cruel, callous asshole, that’s who.

    Yet, I obsess.

    I think I am relinquishing my mind to insanity.

    Talking to my son about his hatred of Edmonton, how he wants to move to Toronto, only brought back more memories and obsessions about this woman, who lives a privileged, affluent life in Toronto. I walked through the “urban” part of Edmonton today, ruing everything about my decision to come back here from Europe in 2006, and feeling grievous envy at this woman’s good fortune to be able to own a HOUSE in Toronto, the most expensive city in Canada.

    Then my obsessions went to how I am trapped here, and how she undoubtedly looks down upon all people who do not have the elegance and class to live in central Toronto, with the proper 416 area code and the M5W postal code. How they all must be rubes and cretins. She, with her high school education, not even from a proper high school – The National Ballet School is certainly not a hotbed of academic or intellectual fecundity-- looking down at the rest of the nation, thanks to her privileged, affluent, yet vacuous and love-starved upbringing, raised by two narcissistic parents who were incapable of love, just as she is now incapable of love, even to her own daughters. Her dream was to be a ballerina, and she achieved that dream, and she danced for the National Ballet of The Netherlands for 8 years in the 1980s, yet her parents never ONCE bothered to come see her perform. Wow, that says a lot about them. Too busy with their own narcissistic lives to care about their own daughter’s lifetime achievement. Nice people, eh?

    Yet, I obsess, and I feel inferior, lost, unhappy, a joke, a bad joke, a failure, a loser, a talentless, selfish, shithead. Every step I take reminds me of where I live and where she lives: Toronto, the centre of everything. And where am I? Where I don’t want to be. I cannot escape. When I was younger, I always had a way out. Now I do not, because I not only have no money, I have LESS than no money. I am completely shackled to this place and I cannot bear it.

    I do not even know what I am good at, or what I want to be. I am 52 and a failure. I am not an artist, not a professional, not anything. Oh, I am professional loser. That is all that I am

    There is nowhere to go. I do not know how to change. I have no money to change or to try things. I hate everything. I cannot bear people. I cannot bear myself. I just need to find courage, but I am a coward, though not as cowardly as this **** that left me that New Year’s Day. I wish her nothing but misery. But, of course, shallow, thick, and vapid people like her, from the affluent class never really suffer. They are above us unprivileged sorts.

    They must die when the revolution comes, to be sure.

    I need to find the fucking courage to end my life so that my children can get out of here and have the life that they deserve, the life that this vacuous **** has. But my children will be loved, and have always been loved. That is something this **** will never know: parental love. I realize that showing love in the deepest sense means sacrificing my life so that my children can have opportunities. It is so very difficult to get to that state. Maybe this weekend? Maybe? I am no longer going to write my very few close friends about my intentions or desires. But I have the need to write someone, even if it is an anonymous, perhaps even malicious, Internet audience.

    Maybe the malicious ones will give me the encouragement to <mod edit - methods>

    When it comes, it will be done. Find me in a pool of shit and vomit dead. No more crying for attention from friends. This is for your entertainment only. I tell myself, “Time to get things done, motherfucker,” but I am not sure I will.

    This habit of breathing is starting to become uncommonly wearisome.

    Push me.



    G
     
    Last edited by a moderator: Jul 31, 2016
    Serein likes this.
  2. Rockclimbinggirl

    Rockclimbinggirl SF climber Staff Member Safety & Support

    Welcome to the forum. This is a pro-life forum.

    I am sorry that she treated you so badly. Hugs.
     
    Northern likes this.
  3. mm81

    mm81 New Member

    Hi, in so many ways I see echoes of my story in what you wrote-- I also feel like a professional loser, I'm also dealing with the fallout from an extremely painful romantic relationship (mine hasn't ended yet, but circumstances will be requiring it soon).

    I hear you. I know how you feel. Intellectually I usually know this will get better, but today is a hard day and it feels like I'll never be happy again.
     
  4. calvinandhobbs

    calvinandhobbs Well-Known Member

    We have a couple things in common. I was dumped many years ago on Christmas Eve by my now almost ex. This was 22 years ago. On Edmonton. I ended up married to him. Things only got worse .
     
  5. moxman

    moxman Well-Known Member

    Hi, I am Mox

    Are you still there, I would like a chance to talk with you.

    Take Care