The Island

Having a strew of family members who are infected with narcissism can not only make me delve into a sea of depression where no help or savior is in sight, but it can squeeze every ounce of energy and joy out of my life. In all my travels, I never encountered a more deadly disease.  Narcissism is a disease of the heart.  There is no cure for it. I feel like I’m losing my mind sitting on my island watching my family members of origin refuel on hate, jealousy, cruelty and lies.  The world runs on petroleum and they run on arsenic.

I find myself craving comfort when I grow disturbed at the thought of their insanity. I went about my day; reading, yoga and chatting on the phone with friends. All the while, I carried the gloom of living on my island.  The feeling of isolation is a frequent visitor in my domain. When I got home after yoga, I curled up in a fetal position and zoned out for a few minutes trying hard to not be overtaken by the hopelessness of it all.

Deep down, I know that no matter what, I will be okay.  Yet, I can’t help but to doubt if I really will be okay. What if I crumble? What if I’m a weakling and give in to the loneliness? I better brush up on my swimming so I can make it off my island to shore.




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