On Matter and Reentry

If only I could consult NASA as to how to accurately navigate reentry into the narcissist's orbit. Perhaps, the astronauts would have tips for how to calculate the necessary angle so as not to burn through the heat shield or crash into a mountainside in the middle of the Swiss Alps.

The dread usually begins a couple of days out when my intestines begin churning like a den of snakes reminding me that I must return to his orbit, his planet. Every time I think it has to get easier. And somehow the crash landing feels just as hard, maybe even worse then the last one.

I hyper focus on the only reason I come back to this alien planet--my little people who matter. And all the same there is always some sort of narc designed silliness to divert the space capsule to a more problematic trajectory, amping up the heat intensity and potentially blowing me to smithereens. Sometimes the narcissistic weapon is cloaked in a Trojan Horse designed to bypass my fortress walls. One particular reentry I walked into my apartment filled with 20 boxes full of shit from the garage of my old house, flagged for Goodwill 4 years ago. But my ex narc in all his fake concern was "worried" supposedly on my behalf, that I might need some shit from the garage for my microscopic apartment that I didn't even know I had. He also wanted to make sure that I knew he had access to my apartment while I was away. Another time I returned to an old vehicle without the license plates, registration, or insurance to be dealt with. This the same vehicle that I had requested to drive to my other locale, but he couldn't stop roadblocking. Oh, I loaned it to the so in so family. Yet another, my ex agreed to pick us up from the airport. When he showed up, there wasn't enough space in the vehicle since a "friend" had come along. He only had room for my children who were being transferred to him.  "Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot to tell you, I don't have enough room for you in the car..."

Ode to the Reentry into the Narcissistic Orbit. How much time does one have to spend dreaming up schemes of sabotage? How much life can one waste thinking of ways to twist the knife? Just pretend that this ball of matter, doesn't matter to you, Mr. Narcissist, please. 

I once had a therapist type tell me that I don't matter. Probably not the greatest idea for a therapist to say such a thing to a client. I suspect there might be better things to be said. But, clinical decision making aside, the fucked up irony of the matter is that now that things are over, the divorce official, the narc moved on--on the surface, I can only dream of narc's actions demonstrating this very thing--that I don't matter. I would like nothing more! He has new supply, a plenty. And yet, it's still important for him to go out of his way, cause himself more work, more trouble, in order to cause harm to me. I'd love nothing more than to be ignored, abandoned, as if I don't matter, cause there are some things that are much worse than not mattering.

D.I.C.

Sometimes leaving the narcissist feels like what I think DIC must feel like. To be sure, I've never had DIC and thus can't speak honestly as to how DIC must feel. But there are certain similarities as far as I can tell. Basically, DIC is a bad ass end stage thing you might come down with after you're already suffering with end stage cancer, or bacterial meningitis, and you've gone septic. Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation perchance you were thinking of other forms of the word DIC. Where even the heroes throw in the towel, shake their heads, and do that thing they never ever do, which is to hope. Cause they have all their Savior Hero shit they can usually call upon, except this time they can't. Cause you don't with DIC. Everyone knows you put your money on the Hail Mary end zone pass and the Prayer, which for the most part doesn't pay off. It's mostly, very, very bad. Like Dragons. Like large Monsters. Or like Harry and his horrible day. Or precisely like Clots. Everywhere your blood moves. We call them strokes or CerebroVascular Accidents if they throw in the brain--Heart Attacks or Myocardial Infarctions (MI) if they throw in the heart--Pulmonary Embolisms or PEs if they throw in the lungs--and DIC if they throw seemingly everywhere at the same time. And at the same time paradoxically, you might also be hemorrhaging. Clots everywhere are almost always bad. Clots and hemorrhage tis a bit of a ghoulish nightmare.

Oh, and then there's Gangrene. It often comes too before or after like the frightening bit in the haunted house It turns those extremities purplishly black. You start looking like the monster yourself. Typically, it's been preceded by something oh-so-benign like Bacterial Meningitis or Hemorrhage or some other unnamed Awfulness with a capital "A." Your organs start to oh-so-beautifully dissolve themselves in the cesspool of typical bacterial overload. Your finger tips blacken as the gangrene chews you up and creeps toward your heart. Above all, you see very clearly that you are in the process of dying. And most people don't see their own death. But with DIC, it doesn't catch you by surprise. No, rather you see your own death creeping up your limb. I'm sure this startles you. You see it like the train on the bridge. And mostly there is no outrunning it. There is no jumping from the train trestle. You are just there powerlessly watching it all happen.

And this is what it feels like to try to escape the narcissist.

Bathing in overwhelmingly endless toxic stew. Beyond the reach of help. Alone in your hospital bed, resembling the monster yourself, waiting for death's company. That's leaving the narcissist, on a bad day.