Malignant Psychopathic Narcissism and You
“Am I a narcissist?”
I have posed that question to my therapist multiple times.
To which, she always replies, “if you were a narcissist, you wouldn’t worry about being a narcissist.”
I assume she’s correct—she usually is—but the fear still plagues me on a daily basis.
Being a narcissist is right up there with being a Nazi, in my opinion. That’s exactly what a Nazi is—a narcissist—a person who believes that they are better than everyone else, that they are smarter, stronger, worth more and, therefore, deserve more. Narcissists believe they are the exception to every rule. It doesn’t matter what is or isn’t on their resume, they are “overqualified.” My strange obsession with true crime has exposed me to every kind of monster that assimilates into society, and I have concluded that narcissists are the wickedest creature alive; human, animal, or otherwise.
Psychopaths are dangerous, of course, whether their psychopathy drives them to be serial killers or CEOs. I could argue that both vocations are equally destructive. Even so, psychopaths lack empathy. They are fueled by pleasure, which they derive from meticulously executing a plan. When that plan includes hurting another person, it excites them or, at the very least, doesn’t deter them. Psychopaths are nearly immune to the pain felt by others. They can’t connect to it.
Narcissists, however… they just. Don’t. Give a fuck. Hitler and family annihilators: two best examples of narcissistic personality disorder. Entitled. Egotistical. Rapacious. Delusions of grandeur about their own self-importance. They believe they deserve whatever they want and will commit genocide to get it. Is there any other term than “pure evil” to describe someone who makes a list of souls who depend on them, and draws a line through the ones that are no longer beneficial? Can you imagine anything more repugnant than a man strangling his wife and children with his bare hands, just so he can “clear the path” to be with the woman he’s been sleeping with?
Historians/psychologists/psychiatrists, over decades of painstaking research, have settled on the diagnosis of “malignant psychopathic narcissism” to categorize Ol’ Adolf. Narcissism is the trait that made him think it was alright to murder 11 million people. Psychopathy is just the trait that made him tactical.
So, what do I have in common with these specimens of malevolence that leads me to worry that I could be a narcissist? Nothing. But I haven’t yet gotten to the third best example of narcissism: alcoholics.
Every addict is savagely self-serving in the midst of addiction. Only a true asshole will sober-up and continue to believe that nothing is their fault, and the world owes them reparations. I’m not talking about a decimal percentage; I’m talking about 2 or 3 alcoholics in every room of 30. Maybe less. Its hard to tell because a singular dry-drunk emits a rotten aura so syrupy that it snuffs out the wispy cloud of ivory soap, Listerine, and desperate remorse that the rest of us produce.
In all honesty, most recovering addicts go through an early phase of “its not my fault/why me?/my hurt is worse than your hurt,” but its just that, a phase. Once we get some distance from drinking, a few heavy doses of reality, and our humanity returns, we wise-up to the truth real quick. The truth being: it is our fault, it happened to us because we chose to handle our problems lazily, and our hurt is valid, but it is not more (or less) important than anyone else’s, and it is not ok to cause hurt to others directly, or passively—by continuing to drink.
Narcissistic drunks never leave this phase, though. They could have 15 or more years of sobriety under their belt, and they still think they deserve sympathy and praise for their “plight” of the “disease” of alcoholism. They believe they are sober as a very generous favor to their loved ones. They think they are going above and beyond for their family by not drinking and their obligations are fulfilled. They blame everyone but themselves for how they were “forced” to drink to deal with the pain. “When I was 12-years-old, my dad beat me because I struck-out at a baseball game.” Well, Scott, I am very sorry to hear about what happened… in 1969… you can have my sympathy. You can also have my advice, which is to take your Lexapro and look in a mirror.
^^^ As you can clearly see, much like a narcissist, I’m forceful about my opinions on addiction. I can be judgmental. I can be vicious. I can be a straight-up bitch. I was a bitch just last week when I hate-shamed fellow addict John Mulaney, but his actions pushed my big red “no-no” button: The one that says “PUSH in case an idiot jeopardizes the recovery of another addict.” Which he did. By committing, then endorsing, his own destructive behavior.
But WAIT! There’s more! I have mountains of flaws beyond my feral approach to the vindication of alcoholics. I have flaws beyond alcoholism all together. “Drinking problem” is just the tip of the iceberg on my list of disqualifying character traits. I’m arrogant, obviously, on this platform and in other areas of my life. I love the sound of my own voice and I actually do know when to shut-up, but I run that stop sign every time. On purpose. I assume I’m the most intelligent person in any given room—even though I’m in 8 different rooms a week with at least one person who has a doctorate. I’m impatient, I’m lazy with my obligations, I’m terrible with money, I’m completely incapable of managing my time, and I have the tendency to do whatever I want the second I want to do it.
The aforementioned are only a taste of the many ways that I suck. I swear, I am working diligently to correct the bad habits; awareness and acceptance are a preliminary part of the process. I have higher priorities of self-improvement, though. The cons I’ve listed so far are the ones that are benign, albeit obnoxious.
Arrogance begets my epic stubbornness. If I see something slipping away from me—something I care about—I don’t fight to keep it, I double-down and give it a shove. I delicately calculate my words when I speak about myself to make me sound like a better person, without having to blatantly lie. For instance, two sentences ago I said “something” when I really meant “someone,” but I didn’t want to show weakness.
When I’m angry, I spew venom. I thought kneejerk hatefulness was a just reflex of Drunk Kara when she felt threatened… but it turns out that Plain Old Kara feels threatened sometimes too. When I do, I can be pretty damn cruel. I’ll go for the low-blows and the easiest targets in tandem. I’ll maim what I can’t destroy.
I constantly have to ask myself (and professionals) if I’m a narcissist because, in my mind, a narcissist is the worst thing that a person can be. I start everyday with the intention of being a saint, but I frequently end up being my, and everyone else’s, worst enemy. The things I know to be true, and the way I feel about those things, are in constant contradiction. I feel like I’m the smartest person in any room, but I know that I’m not. Even so, I know that I can learn from, and collaborate with anyone of any level of academic, emotional, or social intelligence. I do tend to do what I want the second I want to do it, but I’m always alone. If I weren’t alone, I’d be aware that my actions affect others and I’d adjust my priorities accordingly. When I feel overwhelmed with hurt, I react in anger. My words are hateful. But I know there is no hate in my heart. Not for other people, anyway. And I know I can do better.
Maybe I’m not a narcissist (yet), but I have a lot of selfish tendencies that I worry will get away from me. My awareness of my downsides is acute because I count my flaws the way other self-improvers count steps or calories. Even if most of my flaws are addiction-irrelevant, my mentality is addiction-oriented. For safety reasons, it has to be. The negative traits that I indulge in the most often are the selfish ones that give me cheap, easy comfort. I don’t foresee ever being so selfish that it results in full-blown narcissistic personality disorder… or murder… but I stay vigilant. You see, when I used to need cheap, easy comfort, I would just have a drink or two. Then one day, it all just got away from me.
