Narcissist or Antisocial?

 
Following-up on my last post, "Mirror, Mirror," a reader wrote and asked if I might address Antisocial Personality Disorder in contrast to pathological narcissism. There was a time when I thought doing so was pretty straightforward since antisocial personality disorder was usually associated with a criminal history. I've since realized that's too simple because narcissists who become violent can end up with criminal records and antisocial types can be attractive and charismatic in the same way we usually think of narcissists. 

The picture becomes even more complicated when you think about other features they may have in common. For instance, both are well-known for being manipulative, self-centered, and resistant to feelings of guilt and remorse or responsibility for the damage they cause. "Lack of empathy" is how we describe this professionally, but in simpler terms, it means they can't imagine how it feels to be on the receiving end of their behavior. If a person's ability to empathize is impaired, they tend to act without considering the impact of their actions on others. The way this is expressed gives us an idea about how the narcissist and antisocial type differ.

Despite their belief that they are independent and need no one, narcissists really are very dependent upon others. The arrogant type needs admirers and the covert type, someone to use as a resource for self-esteem. As a consequence, in the initial stages of forming relationships, these individuals are seductive, conveying the image of the perfect friend,  colleague, or significant other. What they want is something else. Like the vampire's victim who willingly exposes her neck again and again, they want your trust, availability, and eager compliance. Only when you've been finally worn out, do they toss you aside like a wrinkled, faded newspaper.

Antisocial types can be seductive, too, but their goal is to obtain something specific and move on. Once they have it -- your money, property, virginity -- the relationship is over. You could say the narcissist invests for the long-term and the antisocial for short-term, immediate gains. A classic example is the retirement scheme that drains seniors of their financial resources, operated by the "pleasant young man who was so eager to help" and has skipped town with the money. Antisocial types consider people too much trouble to spend a great deal of time on them -- it's what you have that they find interesting. Narcissists want you and that's why they are so appealing.

Notice how both types can use people freely without the inconvenient interference of Freud's Super-Ego or conscience. Covert narcissists may be vaguely aware that others consider their behavior wrong or hurtful, but ultimately, how others feel doesn't matter to them. Arrogant narcissists and antisocial types simply don't take morality or conscience into account; they are ruled by pure self-interest. 

All three types are inclined to excuse their behavior on various grounds and criticize their victims for any negative consequences. Instead of internalizing blame and feeling guilty or ashamed, like most of us, they externalize these feelings and try to make it sound as though you're the one with the problem.  Techniques like "gaslighting," making up information in order to prompt a victim to doubt their perceptions or sanity, are commonly used to cover their true intentions. The antisocial type doesn't care whether their behavior violates the law; the idea may even be exciting to them. Arrogant narcissists can't imagine being held responsible for their actions since their natural superiority places them above culpability. Covert narcissists are convinced no one would even consider thinking of them as blameworthy in the first place. 

The reason covert narcissists feel immune to blame is due to their adeptness at creating a facade of innocence and using it to conceal their ulterior motives. Many find it hard to believe such a sweet, caring and ethical person could be deliberately deceptive. And, of course, this is precisely what the covert type is counting on. Their carefully-crafted, false persona enables them to operate surreptitiously, sometimes going undetected for years. Publicly, they don't wish to appear bothersome; privately, they are extremely high maintenance, intentionally draining others of their energy and well-being. 

In a sense, antisocial and narcissist exist on a continuum with the antisocial type lying more towards the asocial extreme and arrogant narcissists on the extroverted, social end. More introverted, yet also socially-oriented, the covert narcissist lies somewhere toward the middle. All of them exhibit an absence of regard for the thoughts, feelings, and values of others. All of them find it easy to lie and all of them are predatory to some degree. 

Predatory is a strong word but it gets to the heart of the matter. The individuals we've been describing are serial users. Whether they appear innocently grandiose or intentionally deceptive, they view others as resources, as means to an end. Adulation is just as important to an arrogant narcissist as ill-gotten gain to a criminal antisocial type. A covert narcissist plans his emotional ambush as carefully as a master thief. To them, the rest of us are sheep waiting to be sheared or resources waiting to be tapped. That we might be anything else never crosses their minds.   

(Creative Commons Image of Narcissus by Tiago Costa Nepomuceno via Flickr)

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

 
Bond:  "You're cleverer than you look."
Q:  "Mm, still, better than looking cleverer than you are." ~ Die Another Day (2002)

As most readers already know, I'm a fan of 007. For several years, Timothy Dalton was my favorite -- he possessed a certain darkness that rendered the "killer" aspect of Bond's character believable. Well, move over, Timothy, Daniel Craig does it even better and with a conscience thrown in for good measure (Skyfall, 2013). I like that best of all: Bond is capable of empathy, he is not a narcissist.

He is brutally honest; he's willing to do pretty much whatever he has to in order to get the job done, but looking clever means nothing to him if it's not real. Were he a narcissist, on the other hand, looking clever would be everything. Furthermore, he would think himself exceedingly clever, even though he was not. It's difficult for me to imagine Bond gazing dreamily at himself in a mirror and saying, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the cleverest of them all?" He hasn't got time for such nonsense; a narcissist has nothing but time for it.

That's one of the many problems with narcissists: they believe their own press. They think they're far more intelligent than the rest of us, true or not. They're wise, we're foolish, they're cosmopolitan or sophisticated, we're naive or impressionable. If a narcissist appears to admire someone, it's because they covet what the other possesses. Admiration is a cover for competition and narcissists are poor losers. 

Ironically, the narcissist's intelligence tends to be less lofty than they'd have us believe. Engage them in a discussion and you'll discover their knowledge base frequently represents a collection of disconnected assumptions and quotes selected from sources they consider influential. Original thinking is not their strong suit. They're like Mockingbirds, whose song is a chaotic repetition of all the other birds in the sky. What matters is not what they think but how impressive they sound, citing statistics and references, and leaving you breathless in their presence. At least this is the case for the arrogant-type narcissist.

Covert narcissists are less willing to risk their fragile self-esteem by trying to impress you with how much they know. Instead, they prefer to listen, treating you like an amazing conversationalist who has them hanging on every word. In the process of winning your trust, they're actually searching for those points at which you are most vulnerable. The time will come when they'll use those points to your detriment, revealing themselves to have been a cunning adversary clad in the guise of a friend. 

It probably sounds terribly unfair, if not unkind, to draw attention to the predatorial aspect of pathological narcissism, but it's necessary in the same way we have to recognize the killer aspect of the James Bond character. The difference lies in the fact that Bond doesn't kill indiscriminately. He's not a cold-blooded murderer despite the numerous notches he might carve into the handle of his Walther PPK. He only shoots (or stabs or drowns or blows up) those who have it coming. There's either justice or necessity in his sights.

Narcissists are rather indiscriminate. Anyone is a good enough target if they're vulnerable and nearly all of us are, to some extent or another. Narcissists wish to demonstrate their self-assumed superiority and doing so is their ultimate value. We are either their privileged audience or an unwitting resource for supporting their self-esteem. We are never individuals worthy of respect and dignity. We are things and for a narcissist, one thing is as good as another, as long as our life blood lasts and we don't realize what's happening to us.

Prevention is the best defense and discovery our key strategy. Learning to recognize the wolf in sheep's clothing is hardly a waste of time. You can't avoid a predator if you don't know what one looks like or how s/he behaves. My four-footed neighbor, Freddy the Porcupine, has only one natural enemy, but you can be certain he knows who that is and how to steer clear of his habitats. In the same way, learning how to identify pathological narcissism and its practitioners is the way we sidestep being reduced to the level of "things" and retain our humanity. Trust me, this is definitely worth the effort.     

(Creative Commons image of Bond and Q by Andrew Becraft via Flickr)
  

Moonlight and Seduction

Moonlight, seduction, long, sharp upper canines and, no, they don't belong to my dog. They do, however, find a place in nearly any film about vampires, especially seduction, and not simply because it's an opportunity to feature Hugh Hefner's newest girlfriend in a starring role. There is something distinctly sensual in the vampire myth and it goes back at least as far as Bram Stoker's 1897 Dracula.

According to William Patrick Day, Dracula is a sexual predator, and in the Victorian era, his tale was a cautionary one about the dangers of sex and the loss of soul that accompanies giving oneself over to unbridled desire. We could easily reinterpret this, and some writers do, as the loss of self through addiction. Personally, I'm inclined to take the sexual element as representing innocence and susceptibility to suggestion.

Think about it: how often do you see vampires depicted frequenting ladies of the evening? Usually victims are young, sweet, lacking in worldly wisdom. With male victims, power seems to be the overriding theme. With women, it's the ravishing of the virgin. In both cases, vampires are drawn to individuals whom they perceive to be vulnerable. And one is never enough; vampires are insatiable.

In this respect, it's relatively easy to use the vampire as a metaphor to conceptualize persons who are famished for mirroring and adoration. Loving only themselves, if love we may call it, they move from one victim to the next, draining them of self-esteem, wearing them out like a nagging mother-in-law wears out her welcome. Intolerant of equals -- and for them, there is no equal to themselves -- they accumulate minions and admirers to bask in the glow of their grandiosity.

If one is unfortunate enough to be the significant other in a relationship with someone like this, forget about being cared for, because your needs don't compare with those of your partner. In the event your partner is a closet vampire, your image will be crucial to them, but it's only an image and as my grandmother used to say, "good looks only last so long and then you find out what your relationship is really made of."

We generally don't like to think of ourselves as vulnerable or innocent, but social vampires seem to possess an inner radar that enables them to hone in on potential victims. They tend to be practiced in the arts of deception and concealment. Being the object of attention is seductive and not wishing to appear ungracious, we resist looking the gift horse in the mouth. The problem is, failure to do so can lead to getting bitten -- in more ways than one.
(Public Domain image via Wikipedia; William Patrick Day, Vampire Legends in Contemporary American Culture, University Press of Kentucky, 2002)

Narcissism: Unmasking the Victim

 
When talking about narcissism and relationships, one question that almost always comes up is, what kind of person would choose to become involved with a narcissist? This is a sensitive subject; no one wants to come off as critical or blaming, yet it's a question that needs to be broached, if for no other reason than the fact that former significant others ask it of themselves. What was I thinking, how could I have been so naive, so blind. 

To begin with, those who've been in these so-called "relationships" were looking for, and honestly thought they'd found, someone who was genuinely caring. It's terribly difficult to admit to yourself -- much less anyone else -- that the woman or man of your dreams is really a nightmare. It's also true that partners usually aren't dragged, kicking and screaming, into hooking up with a narcissist. There is the aspect of being an accomplice that must be addressed. That said, I don't believe someone who gets involved with one of these individuals necessarily does so with conscious intention. Unconscious motivation can be a powerful underlying factor in one's choice of romantic partners. 

Narcissists are smooth. In the early stages of a relationship, it's nearly impossible to conceive they could be fraudulent. They're too considerate, attentive, supportive, and affectionate. They appear utterly smitten, unable to get enough of us. It was love at first sight and they make the most of every opportunity to remind us of it. 

The narcissist's regularly repeated declarations of affection, however, are what is called "love-bombing." It's one of many techniques employed by narcissists to weaken and break down a potential partner's defenses, rendering them emotionally receptive. Before we know it, they're talking about moving in, sharing an apartment, getting married and having children. Our family loves them, our friends love them; we're living a veritable fairy tale. Until Sleeping Beauty starts to awaken, that is.

Interpersonal psychology suggests partners of narcissists are inclined to have dependent or masochistic personality traits. Either because they prefer relationships to being single or because they possesses an unusually high tolerance for emotional pain, they don't tend to make waves when they're unhappy. Instead, usually out of a sense of loyalty, they excuse their partner's behavior, even when others find it troubling. As long as a partner is relatively comfortable mirroring the narcissist's imagined superiority or insistence they've been ignored, overlooked, and misunderstood, things go fairly well. But there is nearly always some sort of verbal or emotional abuse that goes along with preserving the relationship. Safety and security come at a high price.
 
Partners are convenient targets for the arrogant narcissist's (what we usually think of when we hear the term "narcissist") verbal or physical abuse when they feel embarrassed, slighted, or has failed to receive the respect and admiration to which they feel entitled. Covert narcissists, in contrast, rely on complicated, carefully planned and executed strategies of manipulation to control others. Under severe stress, they resort to passive-aggression as their normally sweet, harmless demeanor disappears and the pent-up rage we rarely see begins surfacing. As a result, they can be as unpredictable and unsafe as their arrogant counterparts. When partners have finally been drained of their usefulness, they're often surprised to discover the narcissist has already chosen their replacement and has them waiting in reserve. 

While not always true, partners of narcissists have generally been trained well. One or both parents possess narcissistic traits and thus, unconsciously identifying similar individuals for intimate relationships is second nature. Recreating the atmosphere in which a person grew up feels familiar. I've heard it said, "I can find a narcissistic predator in a room filled with good women with my eyes closed. It's like my radar is tuned their frequency." Masochism, in the interpersonal sense, doesn't refer to the enjoyment of suffering or pain; it simply means we've learned from parents that abuse is to be endured as part of the relationship landscape. 

None of this is meant to hint that partners are somehow psychologically flawed. On the contrary, they possess considerable psychological strength, as demonstrated by their ability to survive a great deal that is truly unnecessary. Unmasking the qualities that render a person vulnerable to "narcissistic possession" is critical to recapturing one's feelings of self-worth and reinforcing the ability to protect oneself, emotionally, in the future. Failure to do so only increases the likelihood that having been hurt by a narcissist once, we may be hurt again, and that's something truly worth avoiding.

(Creative Commons image by Riccardo Cuppini via Flickr)

True to Yourself

I've wanted to write about the film The Big Country (1958) for a long time. I've hesitated, changed my mind, and delayed because it's an older movie and I try to stay current whenever possible. It just makes communication easier when we're all on the same page. But The Big Country is a psychological page-turner replete with narcissistic old men, young men with unresolved father issues, one young woman as narcissistic as her father, and another exemplifying mature womanhood.

Thrown into the mix is Jim McKay, a ship captain from New England who meets, woos, and plans to wed Pat Terrill while she's visiting the East. Like any self-respecting narcissist, she conceals her true colors until Jim journeys west in order to meet her father. Two thousand miles from home, is he ever in for a surprise. Passions begin to boil as McKay is presented with opportunities to demonstrate his manhood (apparently, being a ship's captain was insufficient proof).

Despite the insistence of his betrothed, McKay refuses to play along, revealing a depth of character Pat, her father, and nearly everyone else in the story finds baffling. Clearly, his function in their relationship is decorative; Pat selected him for one reason, to enhance her self-esteem. Tall, dark, and handsome, he is the ideal "gift" of an adoring daughter to the father she idolizes. She may throw herself into McKay's arms, declaring undying love and affection, but make no mistake, her heart belongs to daddy and it always will. The idea that McKay might have an identity of his own never enters the equation; her narcissism refuses to accept anything other than his "becoming a Terrill." This is an important point because it depicts how narcissists target partners on the basis of their usefulness; Pat wants a trophy, not an equal.

Narcissists crave admiration. When deprived of it, they can easily become enraged, as does Pat when McKay finally breaks their engagement. Switching from sweet to sour, as is common with this personality when not in control, she lashes out, declaring, "I don't know what made me think I loved you anyway. You'll never be half the man Henry Terrill is." Considering her father's ruthlessness, that's a compliment.

What I find so appealing about The Big Country is the way it depicts a person of integrity overcoming pressures exerted by those who would have him be untrue to himself. Pressures not unlike the ones we encounter when dealing with similar individuals. McKay's strength of character is revealed by the ways he acts in accord with his own preferences and assumes responsibility for their outcome. That's what assertiveness is really all about, being true to oneself even when it might be easier to do otherwise.
  
(Creative Commons image of sound track album cover by kevindooley via Flickr)

Masochism: The Deleted Scenes

My favorite section of a DVD film is the deleted scenes. Well, I take that back. If there's a blooper reel, that's my most favorite part, then come deleted scenes. I always want to know what might have been in the film had the makers more time. That's what this post is, the things that would have been in yesterday's if there had been more space.

For starters, let's go "back" to Back to the Future. No one really knows, definitively, why a person develops one type of personality over another. Genetics is a factor, family upbringing, peer interactions, and our own unique way of blending them all together, are others. As a way of coping with social pressures, George McFly had become masochistic. The irony is, it wasn't working for him. His desire to avoid pain left him wide open to it. In one scene, for example, we see him being kicked repeatedly because someone has played a prank and taped a "Kick Me" sign to his back.

Masochism does not equal pathology. George didn't have a personality disorder; he'd simply come to the unconscious conclusion over time that he was acceptable only if he wasn't a bother. I'm guessing we could trace this to early family influences in which he experienced his parents as unable to cope with the stress of child-rearing, and as children are prone to do, blamed himself. There's something about me that is too demanding; if I'm invisible, things will be okay. This self-perception eventually colored his way of relating to people outside the family.

Enter his son, Marty. Although not a carbon copy of the old man, Marty nevertheless has some of his own masochism to deal with. He's reticent about sending a demo tape of his music to a record producer. Why? Because, he says, "I don't think I could handle that kind of rejection." But he's also developed in his own way and has a friend and role model in Doc Brown who is anything but risk-avoidant. The "Doc" has helped, and will help (in the past and future) Marty overcome a great deal.

Psychologically speaking, Marty's task is to make a man of his father. His plan involves a scenario in which George can pretend to rescue Lorraine (whom George admires) from Marty's inappropriate advances (Freud would love this). Instead, George actually confronts Biff, the narcissistic bully who has mercilessly abused him. This is a critical moment. Biff has rape on his mind and tries to intimidate George, a strategy that's always worked previously. This time, however, George has had enough, and tapping into the rage and resentment he's long held within, slugs Biff, saves Lorraine, and also himself.

I'm not at all suggesting masochistic types need to resort to violence in order to resolve issues like this. Keep in mind, film is metaphorical. Slugging Biff represents George claiming his own power over situations that have dominated him in the past. It represents one small step toward becoming assertive. And to his surprise, it doesn't lead to being rejected by his peers, but rather earns their respect and encouragement to run for class president. (As an aside, Biff isn't assertive; he's terribly insecure, as is George, but he's learned to use domination for his coping style.)

George doesn't "get rid of" his masochism -- he transforms it. And that's the take-home message. His proclivity for self-effacement turns into genuine modesty. At the end of the film, when he has become a published author, we notice that success hasn't "gone to his head." He's a nice guy, loving husband, nurturing father, someone you'd like to know. But now he's confident and capable of standing up for himself because the lessons he learned from his son have had an enduring effect. It's what can happen when we incorporate the "deleted scenes" into the final version of the person we'd like to be.


(Creative Commons Image of Back to the Future poster by Ralph Hogaboom via Flickr)

Denying Oneself for Love

Image via Wikipedia

We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life. ~ C3PO

Was there ever a masochist like C3PO? Not in the sense that he has some cybernetic obsession with pain -- that's the last thing he wants. Courageous and loyal to a fault, R2D2 wins your heart. 3PO's bemoaning of fate, on the other hand, can grate on my nerves (apologies to the Intergalactic C3PO Fan Club). He doesn't whine, thankfully, but he comes close.

In the language of interpersonal psychology, masochism takes on a different quality than the one we typically ascribe. Rather than pain-seeking, the masochist is pain-avoidant. In essence, s/he says, especially to those perceived as more powerful,"I'm harmless, don't hurt me." George McFly, in the film Back to the Future, is a good example. Fearful that recognition will result in rejection by his teenage peers, he keeps his writing to himself, and in adulthood, is virtually incapable of self-assertion.

Because this type of personality copes with social anxiety by being overly modest and self-deprecating, s/he can be victimized by those who are either covertly or overtly, narcissistic. The narcissist's internal radar is tuned to target persons who appear shy, secretly doubting or uncertain of their abilities, or who will be flattered by a shower of attention.

And narcissists can be flattering, make no mistake, presenting themselves as sensitive and generous. In their dance of deception, they look for partners ready to believe a long-held dream has finally come true. Once the bait has been taken, the trap snaps shut, and the dream, sooner or later, dissolves into an elaborately constructed fantasy. It's hard to see this, however, if one is accustomed to accepting guilt where none is deserved, blaming oneself for failure, and denying oneself for love.

It may take quite a bit of face-splashing with "sick and tired" to awaken from the enchantment. Little irritants get bigger, being a perpetual resource gets old, and feet ache from dancing to the same tune over and over. Perhaps a person receives some affirmation at work and it not only feels good, but it feels even better when it's not given away to someone who feels entitled to it. Self-deprecation is displaced by honest self-appreciation. This is how recovery begins, with a drop of positive self-esteem, then another until the faucet is flowing full force and no one can tighten the knobs enough to stop it.


(Creative Commons image of C3PO by Alex Slocker via Flickr)

The Fragile and the Vulnerable

He was such a sweet guy, she asked, how could I not trust him? I can't tell you the number of times this question has been posed to me and my response is usually a combination of support and gentle explanation. You weren't alone, many people trusted him. He was very, very good at hiding who he was on the inside -- especially from himself.

I've mentioned previously how I often look back over topics I've covered in an effort to avoid repeating myself. It's easy to do, particularly when you have favor

ite hobby horses you enjoy riding. I'm climbing onto one of them this morning because I've lately realized how one-sided my comments about it have been. Not intentionally so, but there's more to be said and I want to be fair.

In the past, I've described narcissism as though the competitive, arrogant type was pretty much typical, and in my experience, it has been. Nevertheless, I've also known individuals who seemed to feel a similar entitlement to special treatment, but for whom life is like an elaborate fantasy. It was as though they're playing chess and working both sides of the board to suit themselves. Anything that doesn't agree with what they imagine reality to be is treated as not having occurred at all.

It troubled me how they acted sincerely concerned for people but could resort to manipulation without remorse. I also noticed they were exquisitely sensitive to shame. A mistake for which you or I would admit responsibility and then move on, had the potential to trigger pent-up rage that easily turned into a grudge.

I've recently learned this pattern actually represents a more nuanced understanding of narcissism and is called the fragile/vulnerable or covert type. The underlying traits -- lack of genuine empathy, a sense of entitlement, self-absorption, etc. -- are virtually the same as those in the arrogant type, but they're expressed differently. The arrogant type is confident and self-assured while the fragile/vulnerable/covert type is prone to appear modest, unassuming, and possess a high moral code -- one which they apply ruthlessly to others but not equally to themselves. Their self-esteem is in the basement, along with a coal cellar filled with rage over being misunderstood or under-appreciated. They can use people as easily as the arrogant type, but they act nicer about it.

And this is why they're harder to identify and we can be more easily fooled. We overlook what we can't believe and make excuses for the rest. But we feel drained -- emotionally anemic -- after being around them, and when their denial crumbles under stress, you may begin to see how much of their life is organized around their particular fantasy.

If you're interested, there's a growing body of literature -- just do a search for fragile/vulnerable/covert narcissism and indulge yourself. Whether you're "in the business" or not, it can be enlightening, especially if you're familiar with someone like this. And if not, well, it never hurts to be prepared, just in case.

Seeing is Believing?

If I'm going to leave the computer unattended, it's obvious just about anything can happen. Actually, it's not surprising that I should find my guest authors' entry posted yesterday; both of them have been paying awfully close attention while I write lately. Naturally, I assumed they were simply being polite and well-mannered. What's that saying about assumptions?

It just goes to show you can't be quite certain things are as they seem. Reality is more fluid than fixed, something Einstein tried to tell us and, of course, we thought he was talking about physics. Little did we know.

Speaking of which, I've known people who construct fairly elaborate fantasies about the way life is supposed to unfold and then behave as if the rest of us are pieces in their private puzzle. When things don't quite fit together, they either conveniently ignore th

e fact or attempt to manipulate people or circumstances to suit the fantasy. They remind me of the Emperor who had no clothes, and it amazes me how they don't realize there's a breeze.

Instead, they go along, exuding an aura of denial, indifferent to their impact on others, all the while acting as though they are the nicest people in the world. If you challenge their world-view or simply refuse to play the game, they appear genuinely astonished. Why, how could anyone not wish to play?

Fairly easily, especially once you realize their version of reality isn't congruent with ours. It might look attractive, feel flattering, and seem genuine enough, but like my sleeping pets on a fine afternoon, you can't be sure one eye isn't partially open and things will turn out to be far different from what you imagine.

One more thing: the dog and cat wanted me to say they appreciated your indulgence and they'll try to stay away from the computer from now on. I'll believe it when I see it.

(Image by ~LiLi~ via Flickr)

Narcissim and the Decade of Dorian Gray

Every few years it seems we have at least one popular version of psychopathology. In the 1990s it was Dissociative Identity Disorder (Multiple Personality
Disorder) followed by ADHD (Attention-Deficit HyperactivityDisorder). In yesterday's post, I mentioned the current discussion about self-centeredness and social networking websites. This leads me to wonder if the next ten years will be something like the decade of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde's character who sold his soul in exchange for perpetual youth and beauty. But we'll call it the decade of narcissism.

Narcissists would love it, of course, for all the attention they might receive, but ironically, they couldn't enjoy it because they wouldn't realize it relates to them. As with the person about whom Carly Simon sings, "You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you," the narcissist would delight in thinking they were the reason for the song, but they'd never get the point of it. 

Outward appearances notwithstanding, narcissists are plagued by a tremendous sense of inner worthlessness. It might even be argued they lack any meaningful sense of self at all. So, where do you begin to give someone a core of self-hood? Anyone who's lived with a narcissist knows first-hand, it's not a matter of giving, because they've given everything over and over, and it's never, ever enough. And how do you develop something that is so essential to life that most of us take it completely for granted, in someone who denies it's absence in the first place? How do you persuade them to face what lies within, when they've spent most of their lives trying to avoid precisely that?

It's hard for most of us to imagine what it's like, being narcissistic, because we're not. We're accustomed to feeling empathy for others, to admitting our mistakes and assuming responsibility. Because we have the inner wherewithal that enables us to be truthful, modest, and real, it's incredibly difficult to believe someone can seem so appealing on the surface and still be as empty as the hollow tree trunk that came crashing down on my power lines two days ago. Yet, they are, and it scares them to death. And they don't even realize the reason why.



(You're So Vain words and music by Carly Simon, copyright 1972)

Preferring Hell

 
You've probably heard of or even read the book, Why Bad Things Happen to Good People. Well, I'm wondering why don't bad things don't happen to bad people? And, to answer my own question, of course they do. The fellow recently released from prison in Scotland for his role in engineering the Lockerbie air tragedy has cancer. We'd call him a bad guy and cancer is a bad thing, no doubt about it.

But there are other times when the bad seem to walk between the raindrops that douse the rest of us. Someone lies, manipulates, or deceives and appears to get away with it, while you or I would be caught red-handed. Maybe to be good at being bad, you need to practice and most of us would rather not.

For one thing, there's the tiny matter of conscience. We feel guilty because we're capable of imagining how it might feel to be someone else. Conscience doesn't bother the bad because they don't care how others feel. The boundaries of their concern extend no further than the surface of their own skin.

I'm not certain how they manage to dodge the doom that would befall me. Perhaps it's a matter of perspective and they really have a lot more bad luck than it seems. In The Chronicles of Narnia: The Last Battle, hell is depicted as the willful choice, over and over, of self over everything and everyone else. Eventually, nothing is left but an empty, dark, and lonely universe. Maybe that's the worst luck of all.

(Creative Commons image by Vibrant Spirit via Flickr)

Me and My Big Mouth

I think he wanted my approval. What he said was, "What do you think?" But when I told him, he looked down, his lips forming a line crinkled at both ends like a piece of salt water taffy wrapped in wax paper, and then he asked again, "Yes, but what do you really think?" Certain I'd spoken the King's English, I decided to take the advice of my psychiatric instructor: if at first they don't understand, try it again -- only slower. It must have been as frustrating as watching The Babe miss an easy hit. His face assumed its previous expression and, like a child who wants to believe "no" means "maybe," he tried once more, this time the temperature rising noticeably in his tone. "Okay, I get that, but you still haven't told me what you think!"

Readers who are or have been parents of teenagers are probably thinking, "Been there, done that." Except I'm not writing about a dialogue with a teenager; this conversation took place with a grown man. And I gave him my honest opinion -- really, I did. The problem was, what I thought was at odds with what he expected.

Somewhere along the line he'd gotten the idea that he was more acceptable as a person if he approached others somewhat submissively. If he appeared respectful, friendly, and admiring, others would respond in kind while offering advice, leadership, and affirmation. Makes sense, I guess. It must have worked for him. I'm also guessing his growing frustration rose out of his unspoken (and unconscious) belief that because I was older, I would naturally respond like his father might in a similar situation.

How does a guy get like this? I'm betting if we got father and son together, we'd see similarities. "Like father, like son" holds true for more than a love of baseball. Always the nice guy who wished to be affirmed, even by his children, his father probably gave approval easily. Junior learned by watching a master at work.

Enter the unsuspecting Beggar. Mistakenly, I thought I was addressing a friend who wanted my perspective. With each succeeding question, however, it became clearer that I was being set up: You're older, you're like my dad, and because I'm a nice guy you should be forthcoming with the answer I want; if you don't, I'm going to be mad at you. Well, I tried and see what it got me?

Me and my big mouth.