Eventually Even Heartbreak Becomes Funny

Doing videos and writing various blogs—such as my now defunct ‘Letters To My Past’, as my daughter once wisely suggested—were two very effective ways that I ‘therapized’ myself when I had no health insurance or means to pay for a professional counseling while working my way through the adjustment period after my husband so callously ghosted our long term marriage. Being creative helped me sort through and vent my feelings during my proverbial ‘Dark Night Of The Soul’.

What To Do With All That Stuff … ?

I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve pulled my [hundreds!] of satirical videos and snarky blog posts down from the ‘net, so as to not risk any the people who have been the subjects of my inspiration happening across them and becoming offended. Long recuperated from all that drama, I occasionally run across a video or essay that I did back then.

When that happens, my humor imp tickles me in the ribs and goads me to put all the original unedited stuff back online and let the chips fall where they may. It’s tempting—especially now that I have a good case of The Don’t Cares—but I think to myself, what would be served by doing that?

A New Take On Recycling

That said, when I review my work now, I note that [even after having edited out the sardonic commentary and ruthless verbal tar and feathering], a lot of raw good-humor material remains to be mined from those old essays. So, it is to that end that I’ve started the lengthy process of again editing, parsing, re-uploading, and organizing the lighter and more innocuous remains of what I call my ‘art’. I will probably be in that process for quite a while—seeing as how I have so much material scattered hither and yon. At one time, I had 27 blogs.

While I’m honestly not trying to be rebellious or flippantly in anyone’s face, I, at the same time,  no longer care if any of the people I anonymously write about likes or approves of my work. What matters is that ‘I’ find the videos I made and and the things I wrote along the way to be clever and entertaining—in a Saturday Night Live kind of way. And that makes me chuckle.

One particular video that I did it when I was going through what I now laughingly call my “Intensely Studying How To Protect Yourself From Future Narcissistic Abuse” phase of life is inserted at the end of this post for grins and giggles.

My Deep Dive Into The Study Of Narcissism In Human Relationships

When you’ve been summarily dumped and abandoned without so much as an explanation, one of the first orders of business is embarking on an after-the-fact study of malignant narcissist and manipulative power tactics—especially if you’ve been a Pollyanna type, as I was. [Enter Dr. George Simon Phd and so many more life-savers.]

My trek through the study of narcissism is a journey that I am now happy to have concluded. Oh puhleeeze! [Rolling my eyes.] Okay, if you must … Somebody reach out … Grab it … Slap a label on it … Put it under the microscope and study it ad nauseum if you must… Good grief! … Call it a ‘personality disorder’ and assign it a DSM code if makes you feel any better.

No matter what euphemism you use to make it seem more palatable … no matter what you officially call it … malignant narcissism is still nothing more than age old self-will and rebellion. The Father Of Narcissism is the little man Lucifer himself—beginning with his initial Genesis declaration of “I Will …” 

New & Improved Packaging

Studying the topic, calling it a ‘diagnosis’, and bringing it into the mainstream conversation  doesn’t change the fact that malignant self-love is the human condition that we’re put here on this earth to rise above.

Further, the cold hard fact is that some people will—and some people never will rise above it—because they love it. My deep dive to the bottom of the [cess] pool of learning all about narcissism was a good thing. It served a purpose at a time when it was needed. All in all, my study was quite providential.

You’re Educated, So Now What?

A prominent author on the subject has a great tagline regarding learning about narcissism: “Once you know, you go”. In other words, once you find out you’ve been hoodwinked by one oe more narcissists, you close the chapter on that person or persons. I think he’s right on the money.

All my intense study showed me that I was the one who willingly put my luggage down and happily took up residence in what turned out to be a Nightmare On Elm Street—and since I did that, I needed to catch a clue and move on from it. In other words, STOP glamorizing a mirage. When you learn about all the premeditated tactics and manipulations used against you, your venerated past becomes nothing more than an old address—somewhere you don’t want to go or even visit ever again.

Feeling Sick & Realizing That’s A Good Thing

It’s a bee-uuu-ti-ful thing when you reach the point where even YOU are sick of hearing the details of your story. I can attest that when this finally happens, memories of the charmed life you thought you had with what’s-his-name or what’s-her-hickey becomes repulsive to you. It stinks like that dark, damp, creepy old spinster aunt’s house. You know, the one that always smells like dead-grandma. It makes your skin crawl to think of going there again. LOL [‘Dead-grandma smell’ is the term I use to describe the unmistakeable musty-moldy smell that you find in so many old houses up here in New England. Sorry, y’all. No offense intended, but it’s plumb nasty!]

Go Dark … Block ‘Em All! … Well, Maybe Not

Over the last seven years, I’ve had this ongoing love-hate relationship with old photos, Facebook accounts, and various other social media venues. I’ve started and taken down so many accounts that I don’t even remember the logins and passwords.

I mean, seriously … think about it. Can anything be more narcissistic and self-aggrandizing than LinkedIn and all those so-called professional ‘endorsements’ from other people who barely even know you? I think not. Happily retired, I permanently deleted my LinkedIn with one happy click of the mouse—a move I have never regretted.

The bottom line is that over the last few years, I’ve invested a LOT of time and energy in my creative dalliances and I’ve decided that there’s no need to destroy all that output. I’ve also come to the conclusion that it’s a bit of overkill to get all testy and twist off and burn the family photos just because they happen to have been taken prior to Mr. Cheater Pants’ Big Bolt. Why should I hide the photos of decades of my family life just because His Royal Highness just so happens to still have been gracing us with his presence then? Whatever.

Happy Days

To everything there is a season—that’s a fact. Seasons come and seasons go. Sad periods of life come and happier periods return. It’s also true that—even after experiencing cataclysmic upheavals and deep emotional wounds—there comes a time when the person/people/situations that hurt you so badly morph into nothing more than bland, flat, one-dimensional non-entities. In other words, they essentially become cartoon caricatures in your mind.

The great thing about that is that if you’re like me and you have a good sense of humor, those non-entities can become some pretty funny caricatures. When your mental hard drive gets rewritten with new improved software, you soon discover that old photos, mentions of your ex’s name, or trips down memory lane no longer hold any ‘triggering’ potential for you.

I mean, seriously, boys and girls. Think about it. Does seeing a picture of the rusted old jalopy that you drove at the tender age of 16 [and moved beyond long ago] elicit a triggering response when you see it? Heavens no! And why would it? It’s nothing more than a puzzle piece from your past.

Reduced to Dog Eared Pictures & A Few Good Laughs

Thankfully, that’s where I find myself today. My Runaway Romeo—who once captivated my heart and exacted undying loyalty from me—has become nothing more than the humorous subject of many a great comedic essay or video.

I am equally non-plussed and no longer triggered by what was once the infamous ‘Other Woman’. Today I find side-splitting humor in knowing that she is now the one now the one intentionally in a quasi ‘committed’ relationship with My Little Runaway. I have no more hatred or bad feelings toward her.

The first thing that comes to mind when someone mentions her name and I think of her living with him is “Whatever blows your skirt up, sister … And by the way … Good luck with that.”

I like to look back and see just how far I’ve come. Who’da thunk it? Just a few short years ago, I never would have believed that I’d reach a point where I’d find any of this funny. It all goes to show you that—Hallelujah!—time and a whole lot of prayer sure does change things.

Here’s the video I mentioned earlier.