Paper Narcissist

I begin this homage, well anti-homage to you, by acknowledging the fact I am probably least qualified to write about your limitations. That I, myself, question the effectiveness and validity of sharing revelations by a person (me) who was clearly caught up in the same spell that captivates you. Yourself.

I was taught the danger of buying into the idea that a man's worth is equivalent to his attractiveness or that attractiveness is all about imagery. Yet what drew me to you was never your surface, it was your real talent; creating an impression that there is substance behind the packaging. Packaging is great, it should provide you with a better understanding of what is inside once you have opened the box, or pealed back the layers. And your packaging is dope; in fact if you put as much effort into what you have on the inside as you do on the thinnest veneer of your surface, you might actually have a product worth having...

I do not mean my comments as digs or cruelly, well maybe I am a tiny bit peeved. That is what happens when you screw over someone who has a blog... oops. But these are my true thoughts - that your main focus in relationships waivers between creating the sturdiest platform for your own soap box so you can shout your story from the mountain tops, and attempting to find a sympathetic, panting, silent audience. Your desires seem more about feeding your ravenous, continuously, repetitive historical, monologue than providing nourishment to the women who might actually be interested in your current state of being. Trust me, while walking down memory lane may be useful to understand your motivations and help you make better choices in your future... living and reliving memory lane is apt to make you feel lonely and frustrated.

Not to seem unduly, condescending but you seem to be confusing the lessons about understanding history to avoid repeating it with espousing your own history so you can relive and re-write it. There is no lesson when you lie to yourself as constantly as you do to those around you. Maturity is about dealing with the reality of your actual life, candid assessment of your present status, and making choices that lead you in one direction or another. Your accountability for the consequences resulting from your own actions makes you a man, your ability to learn from prior experiences and make progressively better choices makes you an intelligent man. Your desire and ability to shield those you care for from your poor choices makes you a good man. Your inability to do any of the above makes you an asshole. Your frequent attempts to use, lie and harm people who only want to help you be a stronger, better person seems juvenile and heartless. Your attempts at running your "game" on women seems like a child trying to be Machiavellian, don't worry I will pause here while you pop over to dictionary.com or wikipedia... to grapple with understanding the concept.

You said that your last relationship failed because lied about who you were and by the time you were finally ready to reveal your true self she didn't give a flying fig. Yet, you still find limitless reasons to lie about yourself, not only who you are, but what you want and whom you want. You say you had a difficult childhood and it prepared you to help others. Yet the help you can actually offer is nebulous at best, unless watching you screw up your own life is intended to be the sacrifice you offer to your audience. In reality you would benefit from therapy (and lots of it) in the absence of that your untreated oedipal complex, combined with the abandonment issues and your pathological narcissism make you the person least equipped to contribute more than confusion and compound the suffering of those who are ill fated enough to seek out your vapid, counsel.

Clearly, I still need time to heal...

REFERENCE:
Narcissus or Narkissos (Greek: Νάρκισσος), possibly derived from ναρκη (narke) meaning "sleep, numbness," in Greek mythology was a hero from the territory of Thespiae in Boeotia who was renowned for his beauty. In the various stories he is exceptionally cruel, in that he disdains those who love him. As divine punishment he falls in love with a reflection in a pool, not realizing it was his own, and perishes there, not being able to leave the beauty of his own reflection. Several versions of his myth have survived: one found among the Oxyrhynchus papyri and ascribed to Parthenius; Conon, Narrations, 24, dated to sometime between 39 BC and 17 AD; Ovid's, from his Metamorphoses;[1] Pausanias', from his Guide to Greece, (9.31.7).