It isn’t funny
Throughout my life, I have used humor to defuse and deflect pain.
The more I look into this narcissistic personality stuff, the less I have to laugh about.
I really could lose my kids. I mean, maybe they’re lost already.
Since I love similes so much, I’ll add another: I feel like the family in the movie The Others. Living my life in total denial to find out the life I had was false.
I’m not a suicidal person and I’m not about to commit suicide. But there’s suicide and then there’s swallowing the cyanide capsule behind enemy lines. That it’s even entered my mind to make some final grand gesture, a plea for help for the kids, so that family and friends would intervene (because at this point I’m not completely sure I can do anything for them; it remains to be seen) is telling, to me. I won’t do that, but it would be worth it, to help them in some way. Because I feel so helpless right now.
Really need to see a counselor, I guess.