A SPIRITUAL NARCISSIST
For the longest time I held onto the idea I was special in some way. Maybe that’s an inevitability when one thinks God is talking to them. Or maybe it was my mind's way of putting a positive spin on not having an authentic place of belonging. Perhaps it was arrogance or elitism, or maybe a desperate attempt to just keep going after years of wounding and depression.
Well, as it turns out, I'm not special. I’ve been seeing my therapist for eighteen months now, and according to her, I’m a spiritual narcissist, which is incurable, and suffering from terminal uniqueness. So none of it was real. The words and impressions were nothing more than my own hopes and fears playing against each other, convenient lies to keep me going.
She’s probably right. My real condition makes so much more sense than anything I ever could have dreamed God would do with me. I’m a train wreck. I’ve come to a place where I look around at the world on the road, at the office, on walks to the park, at my son's soccer games, at restaurants, at theme parks, or at the mall and am disgusted with almost everyone I see. Learning that God has nothing particular in mind for me and that my supposed calling is complete bullshit shouldn't come as much of a surprise.