Why I Couldn't Be A Therapist.

I hate narcissists, I really do. If I were a professional therapist and had to treat them, I would routinely be arrested for beating them over the heads with my clipboard.

It's the J in me. I am easily outraged (as any of you who've read my entries on Rachael Ray will know) and have no difficulty expressing this. In fact, my mother's nickname for me used to be "the prophet" because my firm ideas and fiery temperament reminded her of Elijah.

As some of you may also know, I'm also currently dealing with several instances of narcissistic men who believe they are far wiser, sexier, and better people than they actually are. All of them are convinced they're now "players" who are irresistible to women, and all of them have had or continue to have issues with substance abuse.

I see people I love being hurt by these men, and it's terribly hard for me to keep my mouth shut instead of screaming at them. I see it as a sign of my increasing albeit certainly-not-optimal maturity that I haven't driven to these individuals' homes and beaten them with the inferior reproductive organs for which they are clearly overcompensating. I make up for it by fantasizing about them one day being told by someone they're trying to impress that they're the assholes they are. And blogging.

I continue to be amazed by how blind some people can be to their own lives. It's hard to believe that one can be so shallow, self-centered, and dogmatically insistent on always, always being right and getting the last word, yet believe that he is generous and wise and spiritual. And it's maddening when these men, who have caused people I love so much pain and harm, then try to turn the tables and - rather than admit to specific, damaging actions of theirs - point out how everyone else has failed them. Or try to blame me for the growing chasm between the person they've been misusing and themselves. A grown man playing the victim is simply nauseating.

Some of my friends have tried to take action to distance themselves from these abusive patterns; others persist, certain that their love will make everything all right in the end. I hate to ever contradict John Lennon, but love isn't all you need. You need common sense too. And narcissists are notoriously difficult to change. In one case, the narcissist involved was asked to keep his distance for a while and make no contact with my friend; of course, he hasn't let go of his iron grip on the relationship, because that would mean not getting the last word. And that's impossible for these men, who believe they are fighting grand injustices against them and are really just nice men who are misunderstood.

The thing is, I've been on the other side of this, too. As a very young child I was labeled sociopathic by doctors; fortunately they were wrong, but I was tenacious in my views and, as a clever child, found ways to turn any argument back against the other person until they either lost their original topic or grew so frustrated that they gave up. I remember often feeling as if the whole world were ranged against me and I was grandly misunderstood, and that if people would just listen to me they would realize I was right. It was a lonely existence.

And then I got out of puberty and, thank god, grew the fuck up.

It's really sad when men in their late twenties haven't left their inner child behind.