The
Mind of a Narcissist
How I "Became" a Narcissist
By Sam Vaknin
I
remember the day I died. Almost did. We were in a tour of Jerusalem.
Our guide was the Deputy Chief Warden. We wore our Sunday best
suits - stained dark blue, abrasive jeans shirts tucked in tattered
trousers. I could think of nothing but Nomi. She left me two months
after my incarceration. She said that my brain did not excite
her as it used to. We were sitting on what passed as a grassy
knoll in prison and she was marble cold and firm. This is why,
during the trip to Jerusalem, I planned to grab the Warden's gun
and kill myself.
Death
has an asphyxiating, all-pervasive presence and I could hardly
breathe. It passed and I knew that I had to find out real quick
what was wrong with me - or else.
How
I obtained access to psychology books and to the Internet from
the inside of one of Israel's more notorious jails, is a story
unto itself. In this film noir, this search of my dark self, I
had very little to go on, no clues and no Della Street by my side.
I had to let go - yet I never did and did not know how.
I
forced myself to remember, threatened by the imminent presence
of the Grim Reaper. I fluctuated between shattering flashbacks
and despair. I wrote cathartic short fiction. I published it.
I remember holding myself, white knuckles clasping an aluminum
sink, about to throw up as I am flooded with images of violence
between my parents, images that I repressed to oblivion. I cried
a lot, uncontrollably, convulsively, gazing through tearful veils
at the monochrome screen.
The
exact moment I found a description of the Narcissistic Personality
Disorder is etched in my mind. I felt engulfed in word-amber,
encapsulated and frozen. It was suddenly very quiet and very still.
I met myself. I saw the enemy and it was I.
The
article was long winded and full of references to scholars I never
heard of before: Kernberg, Kohut, Klein. It was a foreign language
that resounded, like a forgotten childhood memory. It was I to
the last repellent details, described in uncanny accuracy: grandiose
fantasies of brilliance and perfection, sense of entitlement without
commensurate achievements, rage, exploitation of others, lack
of empathy.
I
had to learn more. I knew I had the answer. All I had to do was
find the right questions.
That
day was miraculous. Many strange and wonderful things happened.
I saw people - I SAW them. And I had a glimmer of understanding
regarding my self - this disturbed, sad, neglected, insecure and
ludicrous things that passed for me.
It
was the first important realization - there were two of us. I
was not alone inside my body.
One
was an extrovert, facile, gregarious, attention-consuming, adulation-dependent,
charming, ruthless and manic-depressive being. The other was schizoid,
shy, dependent, phobic, suspicious, pessimistic, dysphoric and
helpless creature - a kid, really.
I
began to observe these two alternating. The first (whom I called
Ninko Leumas - an anagram of the Hebrew spelling of my name) would
invariably appear to interact with people. It didn't feel like
putting a mask on or like I had another personality. It was just
like I am MORE me. It was a caricature of the TRUE me, of Shmuel.
Shmuel
hated people. He felt inferior, physically repulsive and socially
incompetent. Ninko also hated people. He held them in contempt.
THEY were inferior to his superior qualities and skills. He needed
their admiration, but he resented this fact and he accepted their
offerings condescendingly.
As
I pieced my fragmented and immature self together, I began to
see that Shmuel and Ninko were flip sides of the SAME coin. Ninko
seemed to be trying to compensate Shmuel, to protect him, to isolate
him from hurt and to exact revenge whenever he failed. At this
stage I was not sure who was manipulating who and I did not have
the most rudimentary acquaintance with this vastly rich continent
I discovered inside me.
But
that was only the beginning.
1 2 3