A Narcissist's Memoir

Empathy is like a pair of shoes I wear when I leave home. Reserved for the outside so I don't pollute the ground I walk on: A camouflage, simply to acquire people's trust.

Apathy is the relief of taking those shoes off. Reserved for the inside where it is so caked in filth, I can ‘la-de-da’ leisurely without worry: A just defense against the onslaught of others' emotions.

Fear is like a pair of binoculars that allow me to see claws and teeth if I zoom-in closely. Reserved for blending in, looking for character defects, and pointing fingers at anyone but myself.

Tranquility is the bliss of pocketing the binoculars to bask in the view: my pursuers turning to lash at the kitten I've convinced them is the monster.

If I wear only Empathy and Fear, I look pleasantly human: appearing devoted to others and fearful of any evil that would plague their ‘good intentions’.

But if I were to strut naked with my Apathy and Tranquili-titties exposed, I would be outed as the monster everyone is so afraid of: picking them apart piece by piece until their egos die. So evil.