On one side, there are some gold bars ... Mmmm ... Look at those! And on the other side ...

My favorite scene in An Inconvenient Truth comes near the end when Al Gore is demonstrating the fallacy in the logic that we must sacrifice economic growth for the environment and vice versa. He projects a picture of a scale with gold bars stacked in a pyramid on one side and the "entire planet" on the other. That it's funny only reinforces how true it is.

I can almost guarantee that my soon-to-be ex-opthamologist has not seen this (extremely important) film. I went to see him for the first time a couple of months ago, and after four exams and twelve hundred dollars (my payments + my insurance company's), I have neither functioning glasses nor functioning contacts. The glasses he prescribed gave me such a bad headache that I missed two entire days of work last week.

When I went to see him today, his response was that I should "persevere" and that switching back to my old prescription would cost me some distance vision. Never mind that I have already done this by putting on my old glasses, and been completely free of problems ever since. "I wouldn't sacrifice that vision," he said. Never mind that I didn't even realize I was missing it in the first place.

I tried to impress upon him that, in theory I might be "losing" some vision, but it made no practical difference to me if gaining that vision meant my head hurt so bad it felt like it was going to explode and all I could do was lie in bed with my eyes closed. He didn't listen. He also didn't listen to my concerns about my contact lenses. In fact, he didn't even want to examine my eyes with my contacts in today. (He also went off on a couple of tangents telling me that my eyes will only get worse as I age (I'm 29!), and that I should be wearing my contacts most of the time. Again ... not helpful for the problem I came to see you about!)

Aside from informing you that perhaps Dr. Melvyn Bert is not your best choice for an opthamologist, the point of this post is that once you realize one of your relationships is messed up, you start to see the same pattern in all of them.

It turns out that my parents were and are what psychologists call "narcissistic parents". This doesn't mean exactly what you think it does. Yes, it can mean that the narcissistic parent engages in unhealthy self-love, but it can also mean that the parent is playing the role of Echo in the adult relationship. (It takes two to tango, right?) Either way, the parents are essentially useless to their kids, but can be fantastic in other ways. They can be driven and hard-working and accomplish amazing things. But if their kid needs attention, well, unfortunately, that child is either on her own, or is expected to act as the parents' parent.

Laura suggested I read a book called Children of the Self-Absorbed. In response, I joked that it sounded like Children of the Corn. As Laura laughed, she noted that I was right; growing up with narcissistic parents is a life-long nightmare. I had always known my parents weren't great, and growing up, I always got blamed for my family's problems. Now, I realize that I wasn't the cause of the problems (the entire family was screwed up, for so many reasons). I was just the only one who ever said anything about the problems. My brother laid low and escaped as soon as possible. I, however, tried for years to show them who I was, and to tell them what I wanted. They didn't listen. Exhausted from fighting for so many long, painful, empty, lonely years, I had, by the age of 19, renounced even the existence of love. This renunciation of love, however, had not succeeded in stopping me from looking for it.

Ten years later, I realize that in a large proportion of the relationships I've had with friends and with men, I have been engaging in a battle I will never win. I will never get what I need from these people because they are also narcissists. Narcissus himself was not even aware of his problem, and so while I recognize this trait now, I don't blame those who possess it entirely. Perhaps the most interesting thing I realized this week was that being in a relationship with a narcissist feels safer for me than being in a relationship with someone who can be there for me, and does truly care about me. In the few instances where I've felt connected to someone as a friend or as a lover, I've felt scared almost immediately and pushed the other person away, which I regret.

This story doesn't have a tidy ending in my life, but I have thought of a tidy ending to this post for you, my esteemed reader. I would like to revise my statement from ten years ago. It's not that I don't believe in love. It's that I don't believe I'm ready for it. At least not yet.

And, if you haven't seen An Inconvenient Truth, I highly recommend it; I liked it almost as much as Michael Clayton, and way more than the book One Hundred Years of Solitude.