Ludicrous Aspirations

A friend suggested that I have PTSD concerning our latest 100 days with narcissist-in-chief. And she is right. My bones rattle every time I read the New York Times and the Washington Post. I know the terror induced by a pathological narcissist because I was raised by one and ran away at age 15. This particular pathological narcissist had enough power to bring my 6th grade schoolteacher Miss Ringle, to tears upon receiving a letter reprimanding her for trimming off the blank corners of a poster I made on oak-tag. There are countless other stories. I am a refugee from a valium-popping amphetamine-addicted totalitarian leader of a small family in an affluent suburb of New York. I will never worship the wealth or the near wealthy or the wanna be wealthy. I will never understand such ludicrous aspirations. As with most things I do not understand, I view it as spiritual bankruptcy and acute mental illness.