The Narcissist

I narc on narcs.

If you’re a narc, I’m going to narc on you.

There’s no “I” in team, but there are two in “narcissist.” The first “I” in that word represents you, the narcissist, and the second “I” is me, the pop psychology expert diagnosing you with the condition that is the 2020s’ answer to 2000 through 2011 Charlie Sheen media tour’s “bipolar.”

My abusive ex is a narc. Major red flags that I should have seen.

I went from being raised by narcissists to dating them. Everyone around me is a narcissist.

But not me.

I know that I am not a narcissist. I’ve given myself enough thought to know I’m not. I have self-awareness. I know my truth. I manifest good things that happen in my life and have no time for toxic narcissists.

I also see a therapist who listens to me and reassures me that I am a person of value.

What was that? You’re calling me a narcissist?

I’m “projecting,” you say?

You’re projecting when you say I’m projecting, you toxic narc. That’s more projection than every Imax theater being catapulted into space.

What’s happening here is your fragile narc ego can’t handle nonbinary POC being superior to you.

Nobody is better at spotting a narcissist than me. I am, if not the greatest, certainly one of the greatest narcissist spotters in the history of this planet, that I can tell you.

Donald Trump is a narcissist.

Get out of my mirror, Orange Man.