Growing up the daughter of a Political Science major, the Presidential Debates were the highlight of our lives every four years.
And every four years, my parents' faces would droop with disappointment as every Republican candidate failed to hit their opponent where it hurt. As they politely ignored their opponent's scandals, my parents would say in disgust, "The Republicans are just too damn gentlemanly."
Now we know, that wasn't true at all.
They were RINOs! Republican In Name Only.
They were on the same team as their opponent. George H. W. Bush (of mistress Jennifer Fitzgerald and Boys Town infamy) proved that when he called Bill Clinton, "my son" and George W. Bush referred to Hillary Clinton as, "my sister-in-law."
When I heard that, it reminded me of that famous quote from the 1954 movie A Star is Born. "If you'll be kind enough to glance between my shoulder blades...you'll find there a knife. On its handle are your initials."
The knife was between our shoulder blades. Whoever we voted for, whoever won, nothing much ever changed. We were duped. Played for saps.
Enter Donald Trump.
I know Nancy Pelosi's white roots have already grown out since her infamous visit to that hair salon. But thanks to Donald Trump bringing it up at every awesome rally, it's not stale news yet!
The whole incident would've blown over in a jiffy if she'd had the humility and Erma Bombeckesque sense of humor to say, "Sorry, my bad. I just wanted to look my best for my voters."
But no! Nancy herself blew the incident into A Thing by projection, by attempting to gaslight the American voter by blaming the hair salon for setting her up. Basically a grown-up version of, "I know you are but what am I?" Typical narcissism. The faux apology that circles around to blame the victim.
Yesterday, I received an alarmed email from my marketing service informing me that 7.58% of my readers had unsubscribed after I wrote They Said Trump Is A Malignant Narcissist. Was I off-topic, they wanted to know? Had I erred in some way?
I've been writing about all the usual topics - cults, narcissism, freedom but as they relate to America and Donald Trump. Apparently, that pissed off exactly 7.58% of my subscribers who are Biden/Harris supporters.
Then I realized something: You can't write about narcissism without also writing about America, patriotism, freedom...and Donald Trump.
Our fight against narcissism is a fight for our God-given American Freedoms in the microcosm of our relationships. But you won't even know you have those freedoms without America. What we're fighting for, nationally and personally, is for freedom "against all enemies, foreign and domestic." Emphasis on domestic.
As soon as Donald Trump announced his candidacy in 2015, screams of "Narcissist!" resounded through cyberspace.
It was the perfect label at the perfect time. The whole Narcissism trend had just started and I was in the perfect place at the perfect time too. As Trump began his presidential campaign, I began writing PsychCentral's first dedicated narcissism blog, Narcissism Meets Normalcy.
Every time I hear someone say, "the new normal," I cringe. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, it sets my teeth on edge.
That's because I know from sad experience how abusers have carte blanche in the absence of normalcy - the stick in the spokes of their abuse. Abusers and narcissists hate normalcy because it puts a cramp in their style. The first thing cults make new members jettison is their old normalcy. As Todd bragged on Chrisley Knows Best, "There ain't no normal here." My point.
The events of 2020 have given certain people "dressed in a little brief authority" just the excuse they craved to jettison normal, to terrify, to divide and to conquer by brainwashing nice, normal people into exchanging their God-given freedom for so-called "safety."
For five years, I've advocated for the importance of the protection of normalcy. Naming my old blog, Narcissism Meets Normalcy was not a whim. I coined that title because I know, from experience, how much bad can happen when the protection of normalcy is removed.
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