Surviving Narcissism Exploring life after marriage to a narcissist. Learning and thriving by sharing our story. – Jesse Blayne

This post is from Pat, who sent a beautiful comment yesterday.  If you caught the comment, you know how insightful it is.  And it is definitely worth reading again.

A man was resting under his favorite tree. As he rested and daydreamed, he felt a wet, sloppy splooge land on his head. Taking out his handkerchief to wipe off the mess, he looked up and saw a large, green, crested bird with red and yellow speckles on its tail on the branch above him. The bird cocked its head and smiled at him. The man understood the bird was just doing what birds do, but he hated what the bird had done to him. His handkerchief wasn’t large enough to clean off all of what had landed on his head, so he went home to wash his hair and finish the job.

Sometime later, the man rested again under his favorite tree. Presently, he felt a large plop on his head. It stunk. It was repulsive. It ran down his neck. Incredibly, it was from the same large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail. As he stared in amazement at the bird, the bird cocked his head, returned his stare, and smiled. The man was tolerant of the bird, which had only done what birds do. But he HATED what the bird had done to him. His handkerchief was no larger than the last time. He went home to take a shower and change his clothes.

When next the man felt the need to rest, he hiked again to his favorite tree. He hoped the bird would not be there. Settling under the tree, the view of the countryside filled him with a sleepy kind of peace. He raised his arms to cushion his head on his hands against the tree, and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, the large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail once again interrupted his pleasure. Incredulous, he glared up at the bird. The bird cocked its head, gazed at the man, and smiled. What fell from the bird this time was by far greater in volume than any time before. It reeked. It was foul and disgusting. It ENRAGED the man. This time, the awful, slimy filth had not only covered his head and run down his neck, but had landed on his hands and run down inside his sleeves. Though he had come with towels, just in case the bird was there, he still was not prepared with enough towels to clean up what was on his clothes and in his clothes. He wondered if he would ever be clean again, even after a long, hot shower.

There came a time when, after a long day’s work, the man needed a rest. Tramping through the countryside toward his favorite tree, he walked more and more slowly. He thought about his tree and about the bird that had come to inhabit it. He loved his tree; he wanted to rest under his tree. But he did not want to have his restful time ruined by the large, green, crested bird with the red and yellow speckles on its tail. He remembered what the bird had done to him, and he remembered how it made him feel each time he rested under that tree. Maybe he should find another tree. It would make him sad not to be able to enjoy his favorite tree, but he definitely didn’t like what happened there anymore. Yes, he told himself, a different tree would be better. He told himself he might even come to love resting under this new tree. It would become his new favorite tree.

And he would ALWAYS look up before he sat down to rest.

Thank you, Pat.