A Memory of a Narcissistic Sociopath Aunt

A random memory surfaced out of nowhere.

Visual art I made while writing “Jaded Empath Manifesto”

Aunt Ethel appeared to be in her “stern” mood, which I always found unsettling. Uncomfortable. Alienating. Confusing, since this didn’t fit with the character she usually played back then. She looked seriously, as she peered at me and asked, “Do you give in to peer pressure?”

I immediately shook my head “No.” I was a social pariah and had no close friends from childhood all the way through high school. At age eight I realized that because I was essentially unlikable, there was no point in my trying to make friends. I accepted this — or at least told myself to accept it.

At age ten, I started watching Doctor Who and began to embrace eccentric individuality. By then, I was starting to be obsessed with the Victorian era, an obsession that has never entirely gone away (and has always been aesthetic, despite my mother and brother using it as an excuse to accuse me of embracing Victorian patriarchy — thus projecting their enthusiasm for patriarchy and misogyny onto me). My fascination with the Victorian era led to my writing historical fantasy in which the central character was an eccentric spinster witch who lived in a mansion. At age 15 I began reading Oscar Wilde and was obsessed — and he was quite the flamboyant individualist.