Reality on a Stick

Oh hallelujah.

I was happy to find out today that I don’t hate myself so much after all. That’s the good news. The bad news is that I’m growing increasingly bitter about the treatment to which we blameless narcissists have been wrongfully subjected all these years.

Here’s where I’m coming from: First off, it was plenty difficult to break the pattern of hyper-competitive, alpha-male behavior that had taken hold of me during high school. And I’m not ashamed to admit to a(n un)healthy daily dosage of self-conscious, self-deprecating ’soul-searching’ while trying to figure myself out. However, it is grossly inappropriate to suggest that the self-confidence behind all inflated egos is completely contrived. That’s the psychological equivalent to hitting below the belt.

And I actually bought into that pile of gobbledygook for about a minute, until I woke up and realized just how absurd it was for me to be feeling sorry for myself. Me? Feel sorry for myself? Hai?

See, you oppressive types have a lot to learn about the delicate ties that bind personality traits to the overall morale of a given group. To wit: Take away our confidence, and we narcissists are as helpless as slobbering invalids, and that’s a big no-no, because you need us. Why do you need us, you ask? Because your glass-half-empty asses couldn’t keep an inkling of hope alive without us. Period. Face it: you loathe arrogance and unfaltering self-assuredness, but you’re the first to fall into patriotic line, rallying behind your captain, when catastrophe strikes.

While I agree that we narcissists need to tone it down to a respectul and conscientious existence, I refuse to wallow in self-doubt wondering whether my pride is indeed authentic. So do the world a favor and keep your whiny, self-loathing, misery-loves-company, can’t-find-happiness-for-myself-so-it-must-not-exist propaganda bullshit to yourselves and leave us out of it!

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