Trump and Me, Sitting in a Tree, N-A-R-C-I-S-S-I-S-T
About 5 or 6 years ago, I settled into the corner of the type of couch that usually was shoved into a too-small college room and was so fluffy that all you wanted to do to was sleep.
This couch was in my therapist’s office, and since I refused to lie down on that gloriously comfortable couch (I was not getting therapy after all. I was just there to chat), I continually shifted in my seat to stay awake.
I remember the conversation starting with something about my mother (My mother is a saint!) and meandering into drug use (who me? I’m as sober as broke coke head!). We talked about my bipolar (ok, you got me on that one), and then he said something that shook me out of the mundane.
“You are a narcissist,” he declared.
Ok, maybe it was a mention. Or a comment. Certainly not a declaration.
“Please,” I responded. “I am just great at what I do.”
A couple of weeks back, I was talking to a friend of mine who I stood up on a recent business trip. There were reasons, most of which were bullshit, but reasons nonetheless.
“Have you ever been diagnosed with NPD?” she asked.
“Naturally Pleasing Demeanor? Of course!”
I flashed back to that day in my therapist’s office. “You are a narcissist” rang in my head.
Nah, I thought to myself. There is no way. I am a good dude. I try and be helpful. I deflect praise as often as possible (to my detriment). Hell, I am already bipolar, now I have to deal with this shit?
As we continued to talk about other things, I sort of stopped listening and thought about this narcissist thing.
Ok, right now do I realize the irony of that last sentence.
“Can you tell me what you mean?” I blurted out.
“Look at Trump,” she suggested. “He is a malignant narcissist.
“He deflects. He lies (always to his benefit). He blames. He continually spouts his credentials. He wants the world to believe he is the best.
“He feels attacked repeatedly and needs to respond to each slight with an outsized response. He even believes his lies.
“So do you.”
“Fuck” I muttered. “I am not like Trump!”
But I am.
Thanks Google!
Classic Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD) originates at the same spot — the belief that you are not good enough and manifests as a way to hide that fact from most.
It is no surprise that many entrepreneurs, with imposter syndrome and the intense pressure of running a company, exhibit narcissistic tendencies.
But, for some of us, it much more than that. Some of us, excel at being narcissists.
Yes, I do recognize the irony of that statement.
For me, it all spawns from this intense believe that I am not good enough. From an early age I’ve been told that. In kindergarten, I didn’t “live up to my potential,” (I was 5 years old!) all the while scoring significantly higher than the rest of the class to be put into accelerated reading courses.
In high school, a teacher told me that I never cared enough about doing well. Instead, I would always be a B- student regardless of the level or difficulty of the work. I graduated college with a B- average.
I even once went out with a girl a few times who told a friend of mine “I wish Micah was better looking because then he would be the perfect boyfriend.”
Most of us have dealt with this, and as a fat funny white guy, I cannot imagine how smart, capable women/people of color/LGBT folks dealt with it. I guess that is why so many give up on progression and, too often, life.
Yeah, fuck me for real.
In response to believing that maybe, just maybe, actually, I am not good enough, I created a style of interaction and engagement that hid that fact.
I did two things:
I believed it. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough. Every compliment is a lie. I have built companies. But not GREAT companies. I graduated college, but not Stanford. I have an amazing dog, but she is a pain in the ass. (Ok, that one doesn’t count.)
I reacted to the outside world as if I was good enough…I mean great, fantastic, the best ever. Every attempt to provide feedback or constructive criticism is an attack. I quit before I start. I talk too damn much. I belittle. I am condescending. I don’t spend much time with friends (since, shit, they probably aren’t that interested in hanging out anyway). I take every slow or short or delayed response as confirmation. I am Micah…whatever the fuck that is…which includes my style of dress and talk…basically a demeanor of “I just don’t care what you think.”
But, of course, I do. What I do is fear what you think, since it could very well prove that my beliefs are true.
Yeah, that’s pretty ironic too.
Over the past few weeks, I have dove into this with my therapist. When I was diagnosed as bi-polar almost ten years ago, I walked out of the doctor’s office, called my mom, and cried.
“Mom, it’s the first time that someone knows what’s wrong with me.”
It turns out he knew only half of it, as this rings as true.
My bipolar makes the narcissism worse. When I am manic, I run the jewels. When I am depressed, I am a bad polka record that even Weird Al wont buy.
You know what makes it worse? Social media. This goddamn computer screen allows me to share enough, and protect enough of me, that I can pretend my life is better. I can pretend that I am better.
Now that I have dropped 1,000 words on me, why?
(Finally, yes, still ironic.)
I don’t know. Storytelling orders my brain. I guess what I want to say is this is just me. The good. The bad. Even the mediocre.
And I while I will still be a narcissist, at least I am closer to self-aware.
Bigly.