From the moment many of us are born into this world, we are told we can be anything. Parents have the highest aspirations for their offspring, constantly driving them to do better than each previous attempt. A good parent wants their child to be successful, pushing them forward and catching them when they fall. A good parent knows when to take off the training wheels and stand back so their child can ride on the will of their own potential alone. For others of us, however, there is no choice. There are only two options: success or failure.
When examining the etiology of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, there are two common theories on where these traits start to develop. Either a child was constantly piled on with praise and acclaim even more the for insignificant of accomplishments throughout their lives, or their ego was mutated as a defense mechanism against consistent berating and criticizing from their parental figures. Either way, when the child grows up, they are left unprepared for the harsh and unforgiving realities of life. Despite the common misconception being that narcissists are cocky and full of themselves, in reality, it is all a front for a damaged sense of self worth.
The imagery of the inflated ego, while being accurate, is incomplete. The ego is a balloon which we carry around with ourselves throughout life. For a child who grows up to display narcissistic traits, that balloon has been damaged, poked and prodded until it is deflated and full of holes. As they grow up, that damaged balloon is replaced with another balloon, and, much like a frilled lizard, is puffed up to intimidate others and ward off attackers. Unfortunately, that balloon is inflated to the point that the material holding in all the hot air is stretched so thin that the slightest flick will cause it to pop in magnificent fashion, erupting with great force, startling everyone in the immediate vicinity.
Despite the dramatics and violent effects taking so long to build up, the entire event feels as though it only took a few seconds, even though this has been a lifetime in the making. The explosion leaves one feeling exhausted beyond comprehension as their attempt to pick up the pieces of themselves that have gone flying around them in a colorful display. They retreat back to their dens to repair the damage, but when they return days or even weeks later, there is no scarring or signs of repair on their balloon. It is, in truth, an entirely new balloon, even bigger than before, and if you try to bring up the prior events, they will deny that the balloon ever popped, making the events out to be a product of your own delusion.
I do not enjoy reality. Reality is existence, and existence is pain. Nothing can be wrong. Ever. I have come too far in life and endured too much suffering to have to experience such discomfort or ANY discomfort ever again. I have earned my red badge and with it should come a better life, better than anyone else's. I have endured more, experienced more, and healed from more than any human should ever have to. I do not have scars, I do not scream in constant and unrelenting anguish, and I do not have any sins to atone for. These are the lies I tell myself, building up a fantasy world in my head that is far more appealing than the reality which lies stretched out before me.
As mentioned before, through either constant praise or constant criticism, the mind warps the ego into an intimidating visage that will not back down, despite the eternal child hiding behind it being far more frightened. In my own life, I have experienced the worst of both worlds. How can praise be bad, though? It is instant gratification multiplied, and that has made me all the more susceptible to the future's unrelenting burn. Paired with the constant criticism, the sensation of praise acts as a false cure to a much more daunting problem, and makes in worse in the long term.
When I was a child, I was often sent mixed messages. I was made to feel that nothing I ever did was good enough despite being one of the few children at my school to not only be in the Gifted and Talented program but also to take part in the Odyssey of the Mind team which represented my state at the world championships. I was yelled at for every little thing that I did not do perfectly, and the criticism I received was hardly constructive, tearing away at what little self esteem I was developing in adolescence. When this emotional torture grew too painful, I would run away to my grandparents' house.
In their eyes, I was the most heavenly angel in all of creation, a being of pure light who could do no wrong. They made me feel safe, as if my life at home never existed, and for this, I would spend as much time with them as possible. If ever my mother came into my room at night, telling me we needed to get out of the house immediately to get away from my father, we would flee to my grandparents' home, which lay just two streets over. It was my safe haven where I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, and for however long I wanted.
They went out of their way to offer me gifts every time I came to visit, and deny I had done anything wrong if the subject ever came up. They put me on a pedestal of adoration and held me in regards that I knew I had not earned, but I was not about to question it. Time spend with my grandparents and away from my father was a better high than any drug I have tried since. I was given everything. I had to work for nothing. Best of all, I never once had a voice raised at me or had to hear the sounds of furniture breaking. All of that changed when they died.
When my grandparents passed away, I was left to fend for myself, an experience I widely regard as worse than a root canal. Between the perfectionism I developed as a result of my home life and the lack of experience with failure I had grown accustomed to from my grandparents, it hit me: I had never prepared for any of this. Now entering the world populated by adults who were not about to give me a free ride, I took it upon myself to avoid responsibility at every turn.
Me? Get a job? Drive myself? Get a degree? No, thank you. These were steps I was not ready to make...probably ever. I had never had a chance to get used to stress, as my only options in childhood were either pure hedonism or unadulterated fear. Anything that my ego perceived as an attack was cut from my life entirely. A boss raised their voice at me and criticized my work? Time to quit. College courses causing me a moderate amount of stress? Better drop out entirely. There is a chance that I might get rejected by that girl I have a crush on? Either talk to her in the most disinterested tone imaginable or just not speak to her at all.
I was, and still am to a large extent, a human disaster. Avoiding rejection and criticism at every opportunity has cost me several chances at happiness, and I cannot help but wonder if I am justified in blaming those around me. I cannot help but think that if not for my family, would I be successful? Would I be content with life? Even still, it is up to me and no one else to achieve the success I hope to see in my life, but every modicum of anxiety lights up my ego with red, warning my body's fight or flight response to activate or be annihilated. Worse still, I retreat to memories of the days when I was handed everything I wanted, but with slightly more destructive results.
I drain my bank accounts almost without fear of consequences just to satisfy my own desires. The clothes, the food, the alcohol, the cosmetics, and each with an inflated price to match my ego. I crave the best of everything to build up the image that I am great, despite my struggles to maintain the illusion that I am an adult. I crave the admiration of others, fishing for compliments pertaining to what I own, since what I am inside is far less pleasant, in my own eyes. The image I have of myself in my mind often takes a front seat to what I presently am, whether it lines up with my finances or not. My own body is often a target of this perfectionist mindset, becoming subject to torturous routines and actions in order to keep it as I see fit.
I work out each morning, pushing myself for this vision of fitness that is not achievable in reality, but in that moment, reality is not an acceptable option. The only option is perfection. I deny myself even slightly unhealthy foods, sometimes starving myself entirely to meet that mentally sculpted ideal of what my body should be, and only caving into those carnal desires when my ego tanks and leaves me feeling monstrous. I pick at scabs and other imperfections on my skin, horrified by their presence on my skin, once even going so far as to spend an hour prying a skin tag from my flesh.
I first noticed the imperfection while on vacation to Williamsburg, while laying in a king-sized bed all to myself. Stroking my neck, I felt it there. I covered it up with a high-collar shirt and tried to ignore its presence. All through the day, it vexed me; I would run into bathrooms at any given chance just to claw at it. I tugged on it, squeezed it between my nails, all to no avail. Once back at the condo, I ran straight to my room, frantically rummaging through my drawers until I found a sewing kit, removed the small pair of scissors, and clipped through my flesh repeatedly until the bond was severed. As I sat there on the bathroom floor, blood dripping from the hole in my neck, I ran my fingers down that same patch of flesh with excitement to no longer feel that horrid bump.
Now, you might, rightfully, be disgusted and, more so, confused by the actions taken to make myself "perfect" when, in actually, it does more damage to myself. The key in all of this, which you must understand, is perception. What makes personality disorders so particularly tricky is that oftentimes, this destructive behavior is just what our egos perceive as necessary. That is what makes them disorders and not some quirk that "everybody experiences." They are problematic, and we cannot just quit them. Oftentimes, we will never recover from these disorders, only ever learning to cope with them as best we can.
Narcissistic Personality Disorder is not just some cute term that you can interchangeably subscribe to the behavior of a politician you loathe or a partner who treated you poorly. This is a damaging disorder that ruins the lives of the people with it. While masking itself as confidence amplified, it is a front, a con directed at both the sufferer and those around them, born out of self-hatred and bathed in dreams of what could be. We tell ourselves these lies to make life seem less shit than it really is, but truly there is nothing little about these lies, because they add up, and eventually, we start to believe them with hazardous results on our own bodies.
Some with NPD turn to drugs like cocaine to mimic that same heightened sense of grandiosity they so desperately yearn for, but it never lasts. Others develop eating disorders, because they are consumed by that desire for unachievable perfection in their own bodies. I, myself, smear myself in organic cosmetics from head-to-toe, eagerly trying to fight off my own mortality, the second greatest fear of all, only surpassed by the creeping fear of being forgotten. Though we may be mortal specs in the darkest corner of the coldest room in the house of the universe, I feel driven by a necessity to make my mark, but how I cannot say, and that alone eats away at my soul.
The god complex is so enticing, for that reason; to feel that you are superior to all, that you are nothing more than an observer in this reality, unaffected by your mortal woes. When you visit that part of your brain, it is scary, at first, but it grows comforting to think that all others are just specs of dust compared to yourself, illusions that your eternal mind has constructed to provide you with entertainment until you get bored and fade back to a comforting existence of being nothing and everything, nowhere and everywhere. You can be anyone you want, because nothing is real, and this solipsist paradise is all just a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, depending on how you choose to play it out.
Still, it feels all too real, because it is real, and that is the greatest pain of all. When you lapse back into being, you are faced with a world that does not regard you in any high degree, in which you are not entitled to anything, and have to work as hard as anyone else to get what you want. You. Are. Someone. But you are not the only one, and to a narcissist, that is truly the harshest reality to face. It takes steps to ground yourself, to take your mind out of the clouds, and to start repairing the damage of your past. It will not be easy, but it has to be done lest you forever find yourself wasting a life over regrets of things that could have been.
I have found, in my own journey, the hardest thing to do is to put yourself out there. The possibilities of criticism and rejection will always be there, so you might as well take the dive. It does not have to be right now, but it has to happen sooner rather than later, lest you get too comfortable in locking yourself in the ivory tower of your own creation. I test the waters, little at a time, then go a little further each time. I have to push myself to get the job, then the pay raise, then the promotion. Take it slow, take small steps, grow comfortable in each step before moving forward, but it has to be done. They may have ruined your chance at a happy beginning, but the greatest comeback is in not found within angry words or self-destructive actions. Revenge is found in success, and you cannot succeed if you are not willing to take that plunge into the unknown.
