It hovered in the air above me. Across the room, its yellowish tendrils snaked towards me. It swam in the space between us, menacingly silent like a deadly jellyfish.

"What is that?"

In the dim light, I struggled to focus on its spiky body as it inched ever closer.

"What the fuck is that??"

It jerked forward. I jerked upright.

"Oh, damn!!"

My spouse, confused, looked over at me.

"What are you talking about??"

The words come out haltingly. "A...sand spider...is flying towards me."

He chuckles. "Go back to sleep, honey."

After a moment of thought, "Oh. OK."

Once upon a time, there was a stunningly gorgeous, yet jealous Queen who ruled a kingdom. One day, she waited patiently in her palace bedroom until at long last, a servant entered, awkwardly carrying a heavy item wrapped in a burlap sack. The Queen carefully pulled back the burlap to uncover a heavy, ornate mirror. Once it hung on her wall, she peered into it, asking:

"Magic mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"

After a long pause, the mirror replied, "Um...I...can't answer that."

Becoming slightly agitated, the Queen asked, "Why not?"

The mirror hesitated before responding. "Well, what kind of pretty are you looking for? I've seen some hot princesses if royalty is what you're after. There was that redhead, that Norwegian chick who didn't mind lettin' it go, the Asian girl who liked dressing like a boy...I mean, what're you into?"

"In....into?" the Queen sputtered. "I just want to know who is the fairest!"

The mirror's voice took on an annoyed tone. "That's not really my thing. Head back to the market - there's a magazine there that lists the most beautiful people every year. It changes, though, so who knows if it's reliable?"

Infuriated, the Queen shot back, "I spent good money on you! You were supposed to tell me that I am more beautiful than my stepdaughter!"

"Ah, so that's what this is about," the mirror said. "Listen lady, if you're so insecure that you have to talk to mirrors and hate on other girls instead of appreciating your own uniqueness, then your problem is way more than skin deep."

Crestfallen, the Queen finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then what do I do?"

The mirror's tone softened a little. "Stop staring at me hoping someone else stares back at you. Appreciate you, and forget the rest."

Which is exactly what the Queen did - except for that one time of year that magazine published a new list of beauties. That day was reserved for ice cream and sweatpants.

I have never in life met a person I could not find even one good thing to say - until I met Her. I'll call her Kay. Kay wasn't nice. She wasn't pretty, or funny, or smart, or talented in any way. The only way I could say something remotely decent about her is to start with "maybe she doesn't..." Like "maybe she doesn't kill cats in her spare time" or "maybe she doesn't make babies cry." But with a face like hers, she probably did.

Kay dated my husband's best friend (we'll call him Jay), off and on, for years. Every time we met, Kay had that same sour look on her face. She didn't talk, didn't smile. She did this to everyone, even Jay. None of us understood why Jay was still with her. He would just say there was something about her that no one else saw.

Anyway, my then-boyfriend (now husband) proposed to me, and we shared the news with Jay, who was to be the best man. Jay came up to us a few days later and said how Kay had never been to a wedding and she always wanted to go. I told my then-boyfriend no. Kay was the only one I had ever banned from my wedding. I did not want that negative energy on our special day. But since Jay's car was acting up and he relied on Kay, I relented. What followed is the biggest "I-told-you-so" moment I ever had.

The day of the wedding. The minutes are ticking away, the ceremony soon to begin. No Jay, no Kay. The wedding starts. Vows are made, songs are sung, we kissed as husband and wife. No Jay, no Kay. Five minutes after it was all said and done, Jay enters the venue, fuming, with a sulking Kay bringing up the rear. Their reason for being late? Kay "took too long in the bathroom." Kay kept her surly expression throughout the reception. They argued on the way home. Jay pulled over. Kay pushed him into oncoming traffic. The car swerves, Jay survives. This is still not enough for Jay to finally leave this hateful woman.

Years pass; kids enter the picture. We meet up with Jay and Kay again. This time, she does speak - under her breath, she says hateful things about my kids. I wasn't told this until after we left. I had had enough. I opened my laptop, logged onto Facebook, and politely messaged Kay that what she did was unacceptable.

She came back with a snarky response. I said, "Lord, what should I do?" I got the feeling that I should stay respectful, so I followed up with a polite response. This time, her message was more hateful. I continued, "Lord, did you see that? I was nice, and she was evil." After another below-the-belt response from Kay, I lifted up one more prayer. "Lord, I'm gonna need to ask for forgiveness instead of permission for this one, because she's asking for it." I unloaded five years worth of pent-up frustration and birthed a letter so divinely profane and disrespectful that in our circle of friends, it is spoken of as legend to this day. I then blocked her and Jay from responding. I'm told the truths I laid bare in that letter led to their breakup. If so, all the better.

So if I've ever despised anyone in life, it would be her. And Kay, if you ever read this and recognize yourself, I meant those words a thousand times over. I hope one day you take all the money you have and use it to buy a heart to cover up that cold, soulless void in your chest. For me, I'm good. I don't hate you anymore - because I don't think about you. Best of luck to you and may our paths never cross again.

My son, who I love unconditionally with all my heart, is JUST like me. Same shyness, same piercing look, even the same small gap in his front teeth. When his personality first began to emerge, I realized that...I could never be my own best friend. He and I, we’re both too damn stubborn. We both need to be right all the time. We ask questions - so, so many questions. We both laugh at the same things (at the same time) and we butt heads constantly. We’re both too afraid to step out and try new

Anyone who is an ACON knows what it means: Adult Children of Narcissists. I have made it to adulthood, but still feel like a child. I was made to feel that way, on purpose, by my dream-killer. My mom.

I’ll never know if I made it into the prestigious university I applied to. The one far away from her. My mom checked the mail religiously during that time. The only letter I got congratulated my acceptance into the university 20 minutes away from home. I guess never receiving news from the other university is all the answer I need. If I was rejected, she would have let me know with a quickness. First dream, DOA: Dead on Arrival.

I’ll never know if I made it into the prestigious job I applied for, since like the last time, my mom intercepted the mail before I ever saw it. (The job corresponded by mail to make sure you knew where and when to show up.) The job that would have sent me to every corner of the world, that would have paid handsomely, that would have pushed all my skills to the limit – not an option for an ACON like me. Second dream, torn up and thrown in the trash.

All because my mom couldn’t stand people leaving her – she was the one that did the leaving. She couldn’t stand anyone doing better than her. She doesn’t need friends or a lover – she needs people under her thumb. She needs to insert herself into every facet of your life to make sure hers is better. So now I struggle through dead-end jobs, looking back at a life unlived. As long as you’re happy, right, mom?

But this story doesn’t need to have a sad ending. I make moves without her knowledge. I’ve had little successes, all without her input. My dream isn’t dead yet. But it’s time to kill her control, her dominance. For my dream to live, hers has to die. I’m the dream-killer now.

I never had imaginary friends growing up. Never had to make an extra space at the table or pretend someone was sitting on them. But I sure do have them now that I'm an adult. Two of them, to be exact.

The first one is The Drag. The Drag claims to be regal, beautiful, successful - everything I want to be. And The Drag never lets me forget I'm not her. I've never really seen her - she stands behind me, whispering things in my ear when I least expect it. "You're a horrible parent. Your writing is crap. You'll never make it out of the situation you're in. Why can't you just get your life together like this person and that person? You've had so many years to get it right - what's wrong with you?" The Drag makes sure to show up any time I'm feeling good about myself to remind me that a healthy self-esteem "just isn't meant for people like you." The Drag finds me when I've done something great and reminds me it's not enough. "But what about that other thing you haven't done yet? You can't stop and savor this moment; there's so much more you haven't accomplished." I try everything I can to lose her, but the Drag finds me and reappears when I least expect it.

The only person that can get The Drag to shut up is The Fake. My other imaginary friend, she is helpful, but pretty unreliable. The Fake shows up every now and then to carry me through things I can't do alone. Unlike The Drag, The Fake walks confidently out in front of me, leading the way. The Fake is funny. The Fake is smart and beautiful and always has the right words for every occasion. The Fake doesn't whisper or talk to me - there are too many other people she's more interested in speaking to.

The Fake doesn't hesitate or doubt herself - she gets things done. The Fake may be going places, if The Drag and I don't mess it up for her. Sometimes I feel like everything special I've ever done, The Fake really did it for me.

Sometimes I wonder how many other Fakes I pass by every day.

The day draws to a close.

Head pounding, feet aching

Tired body drags itself to the front door.

Once inside, I bend down with cracking knees

Open my arms wide

Young feet run towards me

Grinning from ear so ear

Eyes sparkle with excitement

Little hands clasp around my neck

His mommy is home.

The best part of my day begins.

I wake up and the world is swimming around me, dark spots buzzing around like annoying gnats you walk into without warning. I wait for the world to drift into focus, but it doesn’t. I realize – my glasses are missing. What the hell happened? My friends and I went on a road trip, there were drinks, and…

My thoughts are cut off when an intimidating man with an angry snarl walks towards me. I flinch instinctively, but I realize my arms do not move. I try jerking them up again, but they stay glued to my sides. I look down. I’m tied to my chair, hands bound behind me. I grow hot and begin to sweat, realizing things are much worse than they seem.

The man, now mere inches from my face, speaks. “You thought you could just waltz into this bar, of all places, and walk away scot free?” My brain is a fog of confusion. “Wh-what are you talking about?” I stammer. A hard slap, I lurch to the right. My new tormentor continues. “You enter rival gang territory, hit on the leader’s girl, and you expect to get away with it?”

“Rival…gang? I don’t belong to any gang,” I stutter, confusion and fear growing. The man smirks, unbelieving. “You said you were ‘El Uno” last night, right? The One – the leader of the largest cartel in Mexico.” At this point I can’t contain my laughter. Yeah, right – me, at 135 pounds soaking wet, pasty-faced, nerd glasses and all, head of a cartel? This guy can’t be serious. But the backhand to my other cheek shows he is dead serious. And that’s when it comes rushing back to me – the unending round of shots with my friends, the impossibly beautiful girl in the back corner, all of it. I vaguely remember counting out the shots in Spanish, “Uno…uno…” I couldn’t remember any more Spanish before I blacked out at my friends’ feet.

And that’s when it hits me. “Wait!” I yell, even though there is no other noise in the now-deserted building. “My friends! They’ll vouch for me! They know I’m no cartel leader. I’m just a tech support guy from Scranton. We’re on vacation, and –

My new nemesis cuts me off. “Your friends are dead.” A new wave of dizziness, accompanied by nausea, swell up in me. The man, either unaware or uncaring of my condition, rambles on. “They were resistant. They gave us no valuable information. We did what needed to be done.”

Tears brimmed my eyes as I thought of the only three friends I had in my life, now gone. Ronnie, who helped me cheat my way through sophomore chemistry. Todd, the fun-loving frat boy who I managed to prank by driving his motorcycle into his ex-girlfriend’s apartment, where she was living with her new beau. And Billy, my best friend since third grade. We played video games together, went camping…everything, now just a memory. Unashamed, I sob out loud now.

My captor feels no compassion. I am aware of his hot breath on my face as he speaks. “Now you join them. You will know what it means to disrespect us on our own turf. We will send a message to your people.” My eyes, swollen shut by tears and despair, fly open as I heard a click on my left side.

My own personal grim reaper stands there, pointing his gun at me, staring stoically. “Before you die, you need to know your friend’s last words to me.” I am wailing at this point, not sure I want to know the last utterances of my friends, who no doubt were bathed in fear and regret. This is it. I am about to die at the hands of a Scott Baio lookalike with anger issues.

The man bends down slowly, his face grazing my ear. “Gotcha.”

It takes me a minute to register what he’s said. “Huh?” Gotcha? What does he mean? I didn't realize my eyes were squeezed shut until I open them to see the man has backed off, gun pointed upward, face grinning. He waves in my direction. “My name is Jeff, and I’m a third-year theater major at the college nearby. Todd said to tell you ‘gotcha’ for that stunt you pulled with his motorcycle last year.”

Complete and utter confusion, mixed with relief, wash over me as my friends, one by one, emerge from the back kitchen, slapping me on the back and untying my hands. Jeff introduces Anita, the impossibly beautiful girl, who is an actress when she isn’t waiting tables at this same bar. After a round of expletives towards my friends, we dissolve into roaring laughter. This was all payback. Sweet, infuriating, clever-as-hell payback. As we climb into the Jeep to head back to the border, radio blaring, I think to myself, “Todd won this one. This time.”

I was going through a bout of depression a while ago. A therapist heard my story and said, "Did you ever think it isn't you and it's everyone else?" Taken aback, I waited for her to explain. She continued, "Sometimes in life you're surrounded by jerks and you are the only one trying to be good in the midst of it all."

She made my day.

Maybe that's you. Maybe you are the one bright light we all need in a sea of self-centered darkness. Keep shining. We need you.