Last week, a rumor that Donald Trump had died began trending on social media. It appears to have originated from a joke tweet by the writer John Ganz, but even before the news of Trump’s death had been officially debunked, I knew it was impossible. He will never die. Dying is for losers.
Have you ever wondered why the sweet and kind parent pre-deceases the difficult and demanding one, often by decades? It’s not just because life is unfair. It’s because empathy kills. If there is a manipulative, bloodsucking vampire in your life, brace yourself: they’ll live forever.
Clinical narcissists defy science. Why? They are not burdened with pernicious traits, such as remorse or self-awareness. They don’t agonize over right and wrong or wrestle with questions of morality.
All of that takes a toll on the immune system. Conscientiousness causes inflammation. Self-doubt leads to heart disease. Guilt hardens the arteries. Longevity is not just about healthy fats and vitamin D. You need to cut back on consistency and compassion. Those are the silent killers.
In the best-selling book The Body Keeps the Score, the Dutch psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk argues that we warehouse trauma in our bodies. Neurotransmitters are disrupted when we’re being gaslighted or raged at. Stress impacts our health. What’s more stressful than having a conscience?
Throughout my childhood, my narcissist mother insisted she was dying. There was the classic “I won’t be around much longer” and “I’m very, very sick. The chances of me living more than two to three weeks are slim.”
After my memoir, An Abbreviated Life, was published, my publicist at HarperCollins received a grave voice message: It was an emergency—my mother needed to reach me—a matter of life and death. “Um, your mother is asking for your phone number,” I was told. “She says she’s dying with days left to live.”
That was in 2016. She’s still ticking.
I’m not credentialed, but I’ve become a de facto expert. People will ask my advice on how to cope with the eternal lifespan of a narcissist parent. “My mother never took care of herself, was alcoholic, overweight with high blood pressure, had a stroke, and she’s 98,” one woman wrote me.
I told her that narcissists are not like other human beings. They can heal wounds that would normally be lethal. They can regenerate lost limbs. This is what is known in anime as “immortality type 3.” Or, as someone put it in a friend’s Al-Anon meeting, “These old bitches just won’t die.”
If there were still funding for scientific studies, there would be one that showed there is nothing that ages you faster than accountability. People without it live 1,000 percent longer than the rest of us, according to some estimates (mine). Ask Andrew Huberman, a leading neurobiologist and tenured professor at Stanford with a podcast on longevity and numerous ex-girlfriends whose claims of gaslighting he denies. He’ll also deny that he’s never heard of this study, but that’s why he’ll live longer!
At this point you might be thinking: What about dictators, like Napoleon or Hitler? They both died in their 50s.
I believe they would still be alive today if they had been on social media. The infusion of likes and affirmation would have sustained them indefinitely.
Just picture Napoleon posting, “Get ready with me for the invasion of Russia!,” on TikTok, while adjusting his bicorne hat.
Hitler would be more of an X guy. Tweeting at two A.M.: I HATE CHARLIE CHAPLIN!
And everyone knows he was a health nut. His cottage-cheese-on-a-cracker hack would have gone viral on Instagram. He might have thought twice before shooting himself.
When I hear people talking about how they’re hoping Trump will die, I try to let them down gently. Consider the hot-mike audio that was just leaked of Xi Jinping and Putin talking about living to 150. You don’t think Trump is going to want in on that?
The fact is, there is nothing more robustly anti-aging than having an alternate reality.
I can’t prove my theory is right, but facts don’t matter anymore anyway.
Ariel Leve is the author of An Abbreviated Life: A Memoir and It Could Be Worse, You Could Be Me
