I’ve always believed it was my job to fix the world. To make everything perfect.
I never actually said that. I didn’t even consciously think it. But I walked through the world feeling a sort of panic — a desperation to fix things — that most people never experience.
Looking back, it’s obvious now where that fear came from. As I was growing up, my narcissistic father held me responsible for being perfect. I was punished for any deviation from what he thought was right and good. And he constantly judged everybody and everything around me.
Behind their backs, he ridiculed people who did things incorrectly. If he saw a public mistake — a timing error on a live television show or a typo in a newspaper, for instance — he used to tell me that someone must have been fired for the mistake. And I believed him.
I’m still afraid of my own imperfection. I still feel panic when I see others’ mistakes. After all these years, there’s still a nagging feeling inside that I have to fix everything — or else I’ll be punished.

In a cold and disconnected world, it’s very simple to fake happiness
When people show you who they are, trust their actions, not words
What’s the point of a secret crush if heart isn’t ready to accept love?
Police won’t do their job, but they’ll ticket you for doing it for them
Gingrich threatens to skip debates if he can’t dictate audience rules
Cats, dogs and children teach me efficiency doesn’t always matter
Trump’s rabid defenders selling their souls for a narcissistic liar
Donald Trump is no conservative; he’s an immoral, narcissistic liar