The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

 
Beauty doesn't ask for attention. ~ Sean O'Connell

My friend and co-author, Dr. Lynn Smith and I used to talk at length about what we called the "Walter Mitty personality type." Risk-aversive, detail-oriented, traditional (though not necessarily conservative), and inclined to play by the rules. Good, solid people like Bilbo Baggins, who aren't likely to rush out their front door in pursuit of adventure. Their secret is, they'd like to. They dream about it, but they can't let go. Until they have to.

This is the story line for the marvelous film, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2014), starring Ben Stiller. By day, Mitty is a quiet, unobtrusive supervisor in the photographic negative department of Life magazine. At any other time, his imagination may have him miraculously rescuing damsels in distress or besting arrogant, narcissistic asses like the one in charge of transitioning Life from a print to online format. In daydreams, he's everything he's not from 9 to 5: creative, brave, articulate, and appealing. In life, he can't even bring himself to speak to the woman who's stolen his heart.

Whatever author James Thurber originally intended, this particular film version depicts a journey of the soul. Mitty is an ordinary guy who's become a worker bee. He contributes, he's efficient, he does his job very well. His life has purpose but no passion. He'd like it to and his daydreams are filled with it, but he's ambivalent. Even his e-Harmony profile is incomplete. He's at a crossroads and needs a guide, a mentor, someone who can show him how to make his own choices and live his own life.

Enter Sean O'Connell, played by Sean Penn. O'Connell is a photographer of the old school. He still uses film and submits his photos for publication by snail mail. He doesn't own a cell phone and would probably misplace it if he did. He's unpredictable and follows his own rules. As it happens, he sends Mitty a roll of film with instructions indicating the last negative on the roll is his preferred photo for the final cover of Life. 

The problem is, Mitty can't find it. It wasn't enclosed in the packet containing the rest of the negatives. Nearly at wit's end, he notices a photograph of O'Connell and imagines him beckoning for him to follow. Without warning, Mitty dashes out the building and boards a plane for Greenland, O'Connell's last known location. No baggage except a briefcase, no clothes except for what he's wearing on his back. 

Unable to hook up in Greenland, he follows O'Connell to Iceland, and on to ungoverned Afghanistan in the high Himalayas, where he stumbles upon him, photographing the elusive snow leopard. O'Connell explains the negative was in a wallet he sent Mitty as a gift. Ironically, the negative was in Mitty's possession all the time, but he was so focused on where it ought to be he couldn't consider where it might be.

O'Connell thought he was being "playful," assuming his partner would get the joke. Mitty saw it differently. Sixteen years and millions of negatives made him good at his job but lousy at spontaneity. In the course of things, he'd forgotten how to play. He's not alone; a lot of us are like that. The pressures of life and work build until we take everything so seriously. We turn to alcohol or drugs to unwind, but they don't help, not really. They disinhibit, that's all. Play is something more basic, more in touch with what makes life worth living.

Observing O'Connell refuse to take a shot of a snow leopard because the moment itself is too precious, Mitty realizes some things are too special to be captured. They can only be experienced. Moments later, playing soccer with a group of young Sherpas, he learns that play and transcendence are linked, and both can find expression in the work we do. Mitty knew all about work. What he needed to learn was how to play once again.

On returning to New York, Mitty confronts the arrogant narcissist in a way that, unlike his earlier fantasies, doesn't involve physical violence. Having rediscovered himself in O'Connell's company, he is able to speak as a mature man with a secure and certain center, to a spoiled and self-centered child. No longer fearful and timid, being with the archetypal "wild man" has changed him. He commands respect and his words carry weight. 

Does Mitty ever get the girl? You have to see the film to find out. Sorry, I'm only willing to leak so much. Besides, you do want to see why that bloody negative was so important, right? Most of all, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty is worth seeing for a contemporary glimpse at the ultimately spiritual journey to earn and achieve maturity, to become confident, to feel truly capable as a human being. It's a study in contrasts, too, between Mitty, who is willing to undertake the journey, and an arrogant narcissist who for all his posturing, has not and probably never will. 

(Creative Commons image by Sheng Wang via Flickr)

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)
  

Losing the Fear of Ghosts

I feel ghostly unreal until I become somebody else again on the screen.~ Peter Sellers

We're taught in schools of psychology, medicine, and ministry that empathy entails using elements from our own lives to enable us to identify with persons in distress. If Sellers had been talking about losing himself in a character, I could try relate by recalling the months my life that revolved around writing and editing a book with a best friend. When I wasn't doing either one, I thought, and sometimes dreamed, about them.

But that isn't what he said. He described his life off-screen as ghost-like in comparison to how he felt inhabiting a character. He didn't call it "fictitious," but I wonder if that doesn't apply. It's as though he was saying, I am what has been written and I speak when given words. Not mine, but those of another, and I utter them with passion, humor, and persuasion. Still, I have none of my own, for spirits speak not.

I don't think this represents the typical actor's experience, though not being one, I can only rely on what I've seen and been told by those who are. Nevertheless, most regard the roles they play as interludes of fantasy punctuated by a return to real life. For Sellers, it was the other way around. There was a substance lacking in "Peter Sellers" that he found more readily in Inspector Clouseau or Dr. Strangelove.

I'm not trying to psychoanalyze the man because, for one thing, he's not around to defend himself. But what he said about himself reminds me of what I've observed in narcissistic persons who are between partners. They're less solid, for want of a better term, and certainly less self-assured then when they have a consistent source of admiration. In the absence of someone to mirror or reflect the image of a self -- any self at all -- back to them, they seem anemic, kind of like a vampire on a diet of iron-poor blood.

I think this helps explain why we see a lot of depression, especially in older narcissists who've failed to establish meaningful and long-term relationships. If there's little or no genuine "person-ness" present, it stands to reason that interpersonal dry spells are going to feel rather bleak. It also helps explain why partners often do better when these relationships dissolve. Since they actually possess the resources narcissists value but cannot provide for themselves, partners can function independently; they don't need the affirmation provided by constant mirroring to be real. Perhaps, that's what Sellers was driving at. When filming was over and the cast had gone home, there was no one left to remind him who he was.
(Collective Commons image of "Ghosts of Lake Hume 2" by heritagefutures via Flickr)

Bipolar Disorder in The Informant!

Creating a realistic visual representation of mental illness on film has not always been Hollywood's strong suit, but I think it's getting better. Having a sophisticated audience that expects more than theatrics, helps. While The Informant! is, strictly speaking, about Mark Whitacre's corporate whistle-blowing while a vice-president at Archer Daniels Midland (ADM), it also gives us an interesting look at bipolar disorder (formerly manic-depression).

What usually comes to mind, when this condition is mentioned, is alternating cycles of depressed, and then manic, episodes. In truth, as with other types of psychopathology, bipolar disorder can be manifest in several ways, such as mostly depressed with rare and mild manic phases, or predominantly manic with little observable depression.
Matt Damon plays Whitacre, who becomes an informant in an FBI investigation of price-fixing. Over time, Whitacre himself is accused of price-fixing and money laundering and comes under investigation. Throughout the film, we're treated to an ongoing stage whisper, a monologue in which Damon addresses the audience, revealing his character's thought process.

Prone to grandiose delusions, Whitacre imagines himself as the only person sufficiently and uniquely qualified to take over as CEO of ADM once his superiors have been removed because of their illegal activities. Portrayed as someone whose "internal power generator" is switched on a little too high, he goes through a period where he sleeps little, spends unnecessarily, and becomes so entranced by the investigative process that even the FBI question his motives.

Initially, I wasn't at all certain about Damon's character, because of the way he lies so frequently and convincingly. By the end of the film, the lies have become so interwoven and convoluted, not only were the other players confused, my head was spinning. Ordinarily when one sees that kind of thing, they think "narcissistic" or "antisocial" personality traits, but Whitacre doesn't come off as either of these. It's not as though he knows the truth and wants to deliberately deceive, as much as he sees himself as the author of a grand drama, making up the storyline lie by lie as he goes along. And honestly, I think his delusions eventually get so complicated, half the time even he doesn't know he's lying.


Near the end of the film, the judge in the case against Whitacre determines bipolar disorder has had nothing to do with the charges brought against him. I think this reflects the difficulty many have believing that someone can act like this character does, and not be in complete control of their faculties. Their behavior is goal-directed, seems intentional, and it is, but it's based on a mental rearrangement of reality that has little connection with the experience of the rest of us. 
The Informant! is a dizzying account that spans several years in Whitacre's life when the stresses generated by his employers and worsened by investigation, combined with undiagnosed and untreated bipolar disorder to induce manic behavior. It's a tragic story in a lot of ways -- Whitacre ends up in prison and is released in the final scene -- but it's also fascinating to see how his condition co-opted his better judgment. It's a film well worth seeing, but be prepared to feel out of breath while trying to keep up with the main character.


(Creative Commons image of a PhotonQ pre-screen of The Informant!by PhOtOnQuAnTiQuE via Flickr)

Losing Sight of Truth: The Book of Eli

Have you ever seen one of those mega-churches on television? You haven't? Oh, you've got to -- if for no other reason than to stay current on cultural trends. And in the name of culture, let's play with language for a second. Mega comes from ancient Greek and translates as (no surprise here) "big." But when we use it as a prefix, we usually mean something that's really big, and that describes the mega-church -- it's the kind that gives new meaning to the word huge.

I'm not going to mention names, tempting as it is, because I don't want someone from the Universal Church of Televised Numerical Superiority to show up on my doorstep with a Writ of You-Have-Been-A-Bad-Boy. Let's just say some are so big they look like indoor football stadiums and have to practically pass out binoculars with the morning bulletin in order to see the minister.

Please understand, I'm not trying to be offensive, it's just that empire-building comes to mind when I see these programs now and then, and that strikes me as alien to the nature of church as a community of faith. Now the reason I'm bringing this up today is because empire-building is a theme played out in the 2010 film The Book of Eli.

In case you haven't seen it, The Book of Eli takes place thirty years after a war that resulted in pretty much universal devastation. Earth and sky are colorless, the landscape is barren and windswept. Survivors live however they can, some having turned to cannibalism. In this milieu we encounter Eli, portrayed by Denzel Washington, a man with singular purpose: he has an extremely rare book -- the last copy of its kind -- that he wishes to get to an unnamed, unspecified location somewhere in the western United States.

In the course of his journey, he arrives at what could be loosely called a "town," seeking a charge for the battery on his i-pod, a remnant of life before the war. As it happens, Carnegie (Gary Oldman) the town's most influential person, has been searching for the very book in Eli's possession, convinced it has power and the one who wields it will control the growing, illiterate and impressionable populace. And he wants to be that one.

Eli, naturally, refuses to give him the book and conflict ensues. Eventually, Eli escapes, aided by a woman who has found him to be a man who may be trusted, something as rare in her world as the book is to the entire Earth. While we get glimpses of it's identity, only near the end does Eli name it, a King James version of the Bible. To save the woman's life, he gives the book to Carnegie, little good that it does him since it's written in braille, a language Eli has apparently learned and no one else remembers.

Eli is a pilgrim, and the woman becomes a disciple. He has a spiritual strength that she first experiences when he prays over their food, but he neither advertises nor seeks notoriety because of it. He's an ordinary, run of the mill person who has a vision to which he is determined to remain true.

The place where Eli and the woman finally end up is a library of sorts located on Alcatraz Island. It's ironic that one of the world's most infamous prisons is the source from which civilization will be reborn. He dictates the entire thing from memory before dying and it becomes the first volume issued by Alcatraz Press, much as the Guttenberg Bible was the first volume ever produced on a printing press.

The Road (see 8/9-10/10) is a film about hope; The Book of Eli is ultimately about faith and devotion: Eli's to a vision, the woman's to Eli. It's also about contrasts. For Eli, the message of the book is, "Do unto others more than you do for yourself." For Carnegie, it's a means to an end: dominance and control over the minds of the vulnerable. Eli dies having fulfilled his purpose, Carnegie dies in despair. Eli found meaning in his journey and the words he memorized, Carnegie lost everything and gained nothing.

Too many times we hear of ministers who have managed to build an edifice and watch it crumble at their feet because they gave in to greed, lust, or narcissism. Do unto others gets lost in the passion to do for self. Even Eli admits he'd gotten so absorbed in getting the book to the West that he momentarily had forgotten to live by it. It is easy to become so enamored with the trappings of faith and the semblance of spirituality, that one loses touch with its essential truth. And whether it be religion, politics, or the realm of interpersonal relationships, truth is the one thing that matters above all.


(Creative Commons image of Eli by scriptingnews)

A Psychiatrist's Banquet

I suppose I ought to be scared, but usually I'm not, when a psychotic (or otherwise) patient loses control or goes ballistic. For one thing, it doesn't happen as often nowadays as it used to because we've gotten better about anticipating melt-downs and taking steps to prevent them. They're not good for patients, they disrupt the unit, people can get hurt, and I've been one of them. You'd think if anything would scare a person, besides simply the idea of being on a psychiatric unit, it would be the possibility of patient violence.

Actually, it came as a relief when I found these situations didn't generally unnerve me. For one thing, you want to be useful when stuff hits the fan and if you can't think on your feet, you're more hindrance than help. For another, frankly, it felt good knowing my first inclination was not to immediately withdraw from the face of danger. I don't think it's a "guy" thing, either, because I've known women who felt similarly and men who didn't. It really seems to revolve around discovering that you can be capable in extreme conditions and this brings with it a sense of confidence in your ability to address the rest of life.

So, what does scare me? Besides asking a woman to dance, you mean (see 3/28/10)? What scares me are the people you wouldn't expect to. The ones who appear mild-mannered and calm, whose pleasant demeanor hides Hell Boy under the surface. Now, it's true, everyone wanders too close to the dark side of the Force for their own good, at least once in a while. But I'm talking about those whose behavior subtly and genuinely reveals a tenuous hold on reality.

The image I have is one of a fenestrated capillary. These are tiny little blood vessels with pores along the vessel wall facilitating the exchange of fluid and electrolytes with the tissues that surround them. People who are like fenestrated capillaries slip in and out of the pores without even realizing it. One second they're with you and the next they've fallen down the rabbit hole. Circumstances you'd consider ordinary trigger paranoia for them. A misspoken word and they're on guard; look closely, you can see it in their eyes.

You might be tempted to consider them a psychiatrist's banquet, a virtual cornucopia of diagnostic possibilities falling under the mystical rubric of Axis II personality disorders. That, however, like the passage of particles through capillary pores, is too easy, particularly when someone doesn't possess enough criteria for a specific diagnosis. No, for the most part, these individuals look and act normal -- until they are stressed. And what rocks their world may be absolutely nothing to you or me, but for them, it's all they need. It's their unpredictable unpredictability that makes me nervous. Mt. St. Helen's and the Richter Scale shows no activity. That's what scares me.


(Creative Commons image of Alice about to enter the rabbit hole by Valkyrieh116 via Flickr)

(Note: credit for the title as well as the inspiration for this piece is due to a loyal reader who prefers to remain anonymous. My sincere thanks for her creative turn of the phrase.)

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)

To Have Loved and Lost

"She said she was leaving because I loved myself more than her. How could she do this to me? She's the one who's selfish."

"It sounds like you're angry; anger is part of our normal response to loss and the experience of grief," I told him.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm not nearly as angry as I am disappointed. I chose her carefully, thinking she could appreciate being treated like someone 'special.' Obviously, I made a mistake, and it's one I won't make again."

"You feel let down by the breakup, naturally. Surely, this must hurt a great deal."

"Not really. It's mostly that she refused to live up to my expectations. I really thought I'd picked the right one this time."

This is an imaginary dialogue that reflects conversations I've had with narcissistic persons of both genders, who've gone through the breakup of a relationship. What has baffled me, consistently, is the way they respond. While most persons feel sad, heartbroken, or become emotionally distraught, they seem to be offended. It's as though a breakup is perceived by them more as an insult than a loss.

I've wondered if their anger isn't defensive, an attempt to protect themselves from the emotional impact of the breakup. It certainly functions like that for most people to some extent. Lately, however, I've begun thinking the problem isn't that they don't wish to feel pain, but rather that they can't. For a loss to be painful, one has to have a sense of attachment to something or someone else. If an individual is unable to form emotional bonds with another, however they describe the experience of loss, it's not going to be painful in the same way most of us conceptualize it.

Depending on the role of the significant other -- a decoration or a resource -- their absence will be experienced, more or less severely, as a blow to the narcissist's self-esteem, suggesting s/he is somehow unworthy of undying adulation or unlimited support. And their response is, how dare someone deprive them of that to which they feel entitled? The inability to put themselves in the place of another, renders them unable to imagine how that individual might think of them differently from how they think of themselves.

This is not to say narcissistic types are unfeeling, but they do appear to feel differently about interpersonal losses. In a sense, one could say, it's not that they don't hurt, but they hurt for reasons that have less to do with being deprived of love than experiencing a wounded self image. Reflecting on this, it occurs to me how much more fortunate one can be, to have loved and known the distress of loss, than to never have realized what was before them. Perhaps, not even after it's gone.

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)

Sociopathy: The Loss of Humanity

About all he said was, "I'm seeing a patient for medication management and I'd like you to do some therapy with him. He's had some legal entanglements, but I don't think he'll try to hurt you. I'm eager to get your impressions."

My usual glad-to-be-of-help expression must have turned slightly pale because he quickly added, "Don't worry, if you get in trouble, just shout and we'll all come running."

Oh, that's very comforting, I thought, and just how am I supposed to do that with his hands around my neck? "Thanks, I'll be sure to call your name loudest," I said, irony dangling around the rim of my smile. They call this supervision?

Legal entanglements was putting it mildly. He had a record that went back to high school and was currently awaiting arraignment on charges of assault and battery. Of course, my patient said, it was all trumped up, he'd done nothing of the sort, and besides, the police didn't like him because he was Irish. I refrained from mentioning that, in Boston, being Irish could almost be considered a prerequisite for a position on the force.

Suggesting we assume for the moment, that the charges were genuine, I asked what might be the reason for them. He explained a fellow car salesman had cheated him out of a deal and then waved the contract in his face, daring him to do something about it. "I tried to reason with him," he said, "but he laughed and called me a coward. It was his own fault, he shouldn't have provoked me."

"So, you did assault him, is that right?"

"No, I didn't touch him," he replied, conspiratorially. "He stumbled and hit his face on a car. I was trying to help him when someone called the police. They said they saw me hit him, but they lied -- they were all in on it."

Later that afternoon, my supervisor informed me that my patient had been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. "He's sociopathic, has essentially little or no conscience, and refuses to accept responsibility for his actions. He's charming, narcissistic, and he'll have you believing the moon is made of green cheese if you're not careful." Over the coming months, our "therapy," if you want to call it that, involved a weekly recounting of the offenses other people had committed against him, thereby justifying any retribution he may have exacted. Our final session ended much like the first one had begun, with him denying he'd harmed his coworker in any way.

I never felt I was in danger, but neither did I ever feel completely comfortable. The normal feeling sense you get with another person was absent with him, as though he had little emotion to begin with. He denied having been abused as a child but when he talked about his parents, he might have been describing strangers. Working with him was a learning experience without question, and one that I'm generally disinclined to repeat. It was too much like trying to help someone who'd lost his humanity and had no interest in going to look for it.

My Mental Filing Cabinet

You wouldn't call it a party; it was more like a casual evening with dinner thrown in for good measure. I knew some of the people, didn't know others, and that was the whole point, to become better acquainted while having a pleasurable time. The hostess was a good friend of mine and this was my first visit to her home.

After walking me through the house, one that she felt very fortunate to have found and rented --it was a beautifully renovated mountain chalet that dated from the 40s -- she apologized for not having invited "Marty." I looked at her quizzically and she went on, "He is a friend of yours, isn't he?" I said he and I were friendly, but that's as far as it had gone, and asked why she felt she had to apologize. "I didn't want anything to disrupt the evening, you know? I mean, he can be 'disagreeable,' and people are uncomfortable around him sometimes."

I was genuinely surprised, but only said she needn't worry, it was her evening and I wasn't offended in the least. And I wasn't. In fact, it never occurred to me to wonder why he hadn't been invited, but apparently, she'd thought of it and didn't want me to feel badly. She was a sweetheart -- it was one of the things I liked most about her.

I have an internal filing cabinet somewhere in my brain where I put things like this that I don't immediately understand -- you probably do, too. As time goes along, I'll add notes to a particular file and then thumb through them to see if anything makes sense. Some files get pretty thick before the lights come on.

In Marty's case, it took the better part of a entire drawer. For one thing, his demeanor never gave me any reason to imagine him being disagreeable. In fact, agreeable would have been closer to the truth. You can't have been a therapist or counselor of any sort without people asking for free advice. It goes with the territory and as long as it doesn't become a habit, I'm fine with it.

Marty seemed to need a lot of advice and I figured he'd eventually grow into his own clothes, as my father used to say. So, I forgot about my hostess-friend's comment, until one day I happened to pull out Marty's file. I had been thinking we were on the cusp of becoming friends when I wanted his assistance on a project. I'd been available whenever he needed me, so it felt natural to ask. To my surprise, he seemed reticent, and while he ultimately agreed, curiously, I had the feeling he thought this meant I owed him one. Another one?

And that's when it finally dawned on me (duh): he only sought me out when he wanted something. It was hard to accept but I couldn't deny the evidence -- it was all right there in his file. I hadn't been naive but neither had I been discerning, a very important distinction. My proclivity for believing the best in a person had led me to misinterpret information that had been completely obvious to my female friend.

It's easy to kick yourself in situations like this, especially if you've invested a lot in a relationship. But here's the thing: some of us have been trained by family dynamics or other environmental influences to tolerate what others would never consider. I was eager to make new friends at the time and allowed that to color my perceptions. It's easy to do and ought not be cause for self-criticism -- we really do learn as we live. And we should endeavor to live better after the lessons have hit home. If we don't, well, that's another issue altogether.


(GNU Free Documentation image via Wikipedia)

Red Flags and the Right Man

As I mentioned yesterday, I've been working at this series of posts for several weeks. The research doesn't reflect what has been written as much as what has been lived. Traits for helping identify the "right person" are ones I've had to uncover by stepping on a few land mines along the way. As a consequence, I'm writing more as a fellow-struggler, but I think there's some real virtue to be found in this approach. So, with that in mind, what are some of the things I've learned about the right man?

To begin with, he ought to have more than a positive sense of self-esteem: he needs to be able to sustain it by drawing upon his own resources. There is mutuality in relationships and we care for one another, but each partner should be a whole person and that implies the ability to meet one's own psychological and emotional needs. If a man is relying on you for his self-esteem, if he needs your accomplishments to either substitute for or reinforce his own, he's got a problem that usually goes deeper than just behavior. It means he doesn't have an adequate sense of self to draw upon and he's depending on you to make up for his deficits. This is a red flag.

A man should be not only be capable of generating his own self-esteem, he should be generous in the ways he contributes to that of others. The right man is someone around whom people feel appreciated and valued. Confident (not egotistical, there is a difference) in his own self-worth, he gives out of the overflow of what lies within. Men who are driven to transform every single work or social encounter into a game of one-upmanship, who cannot or will not recognize the achievements of others, have problems with adequacy. This is another red flag. True men of achievement seek to raise others up, not put them down.

Now, about his family. The Oedipus Complex describes a process of establishing a unique identity that allows a boy to connect with dad in a way that promotes growth toward maturity. One of the ways to tell whether a guy has done this or not, is to ask how you feel with you're with him and his parents. Is there tension? Do they like each other? Is there freedom in the relationship or do they hold back, as though fearful of saying the wrong thing? Is there a power struggle?

Men who carry Oedipal conflicts into adulthood typically have difficulties making decisions and being responsible. They blame others for their failings and crave nurturing. Spoiled or demanding, they can make you feel more like mother than lover. The absence of an affirming relationship with father leads to approval-seeking from, or competition with, older men, rendering career advancement difficult. Again, we have red flags.

Finally, how do you avoid the wolf in sheep's clothing? The fellow who showers you with attention and is eager to secure a commitment could be head over heals in love, but he could also be either a closet or arrogant narcissist. It's flattering to have someone say they want you all to themselves, all the time. But no one can be everything to another person. Sooner or later we start feeling emotionally anemic because we run out of us.

Talk to his friends and former girlfriends, if you can find them. If all you get is negative feedback, that's an important piece of information. A man who is inclined to date the "same" woman over and over and/or has similar problems in nearly all his romantic relationships, is someone to avoid, Repetitive patterns can point to an unconscious process. He may not know what's going on, but you need to. More red flags.

The qualities I've mentioned aren't meant to be exhaustive -- there's so much that could be said. All of them, however, are essential for emotional stability and unless we're addicted to turmoil, emotional stability is absolutely critical. There is no substitute for it. No one should have to walk on egg shells for fear of what might happen next.

(Tomorrow's post: practical considerations)

(Public Domain image via Wikipedia)

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 Psychology of Tailgating Part One

I've always marveled at the 
nearsightedness of some drivers on the road. What I mean is, they seem to need to get as close as they can to the rear of my car. I can only assume it's based on the desire to read the fine print on my medical school bumper sticker. Though, of course, there may be "other" reasons for their behavior and the effort to unravel the psychology of tailgating is what inspired the following lyrics. I hope they give you a smile.

"Tailgater"

Verse One:

I was cruisin' down the highway,
a-mindin' my own biz,
when in my rear-view mirror,
I see my nemesis.
His license plate says "tourist,"
some guy from out of town,
he's talkin' on his cell phone,
and about to run me down.

Chorus:

He's a tailgater,
Hell-bent on being best,
his ride's a Beemer rocket,
and he looks just like success.
He's got gold in his gastank
and status to maintain,
but with the pedal to the metal,
he ain't got shit for brains.

Verse Two:

So, I checked on my old speedo,
and I'm right there on the mark,
stayin' out of trouble,
it's like walkin' in the park.
But no matter what the limit,
he's right there on my rump,
sniffin' at my bumper,
like he wants me to speed up.

Chorus

Yep, he’s a tailgater,
Hell-bent on being best,
his ride's a Beemer rocket,
and he looks just like success.
He's got gold in his gastank
and status to maintain,
but with the pedal to the metal,
he ain't got shit for brains.

Verse Three:

Oh, I could race him down the highway,
zoom on up the road,
wave my middle finger

and blow off that little toad.
But it ain't more speed,
he’s got a deep-seated need,
he thinks life is competition
and he always has to win.

Final Chorus:

Yeah, he's a tailgater,
Hell-bent on being best,
his ride's a Beemer rocket,
and he looks just like success.
He's got gold in his gastank,
and an achin' in his heart,
his ambition always fails him,
and it's tearin' him apart.

(Copyright 2025 by the author, all rights reserved; Creative Commons image entitled "Tailgating" by tommaync via Flickr)

Getting Off the Elevator

The other day a friend of mine posed the question, "How does the ability or desire to love fade?" My first inclination was to go up into my head and intellectualize. Then it occurred to me I should "get off the elevator" and see what the heart had to say, so I switched off the computer and decided to sleep on it. With a cup of Whole Foods Holiday Blend at the ready, I'd like to give it a try this morning.

Desire and ability are two different things. I'm not sure everyone has the ability though most of us have the desire at some point. For me, loving involves placing someone (or something), along with their best interests, above my own. To do that, Planet Beggar has to be willing to orbit someone other than himself. This is the essence of spirituality.

Those who are narcissistically-impaired have no center other than themselves. The intention of their attention is to draw others into orbit around them. How you feel and what is important to you is ultimately of no consequence because you can never possess greater value than that which they claim for themselves. Whatever it's called, by my definition, this isn't love.

The desire to love fades as we discover, sometimes imperceptibly, that it has been misdirected. I have nothing to base this on except my own beliefs, but I think even animals shift their loyalty when love is denied them. Speaking as a person of faith, the only entity capable of, and willing to, love unreservedly and without at least a little bit of reciprocation, is God. And if there's anything I've learned as a minister, it's that there is a God and I'm not him. I'll bang my head against a door until it hurts, but sooner or later, even I can get the message there's nobody home.

Love seeks its own kind. And, by the way, I'm not talking specifically about romance. Love is unrelenting in its efforts to find itself in others, whether we call them friend, father, sister, or sweetheart. Loving once we wish to love again, and again, all the while our capacity growing in proportion to our giving. This is the essence of generosity.

There is an ebb and flow to love. As it eases away from what has proven unfruitful, it flows toward that which is. This is the essence of hope. Love seeking, love reaching, love laying hold of another, one after the other, this is the essence of love.


)

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.