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 internet from the
inside of one of Israel's more notorious jails, is a story unto itself.
In this film noire, 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 immanent 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 tham in contempt. THEY
were infoerior to his superior qualities and skills. He needed their
admiration but he resented this fact and he accepted their offerings
codescendingly.
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.
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