Have you ever
heard of the story about a son of a Greek god, who was so in love with himself,
that once he saw his own reflection he could not stop staring. Two versions are
told about how this story ends. First one being, that for he did not move from the
pond that he saw his own reflection in, he turned into a flower. Second version
ends in him realizing that this beautiful ‘person’ he fell in love with is only
a reflection and he can never obtain it. This realization makes him kill
himself. This story is an old Greek myth about the dangers of vanity and when
put into a modern setting, it sounds a bit odd. It seems unlikely that in this
hectic world that we live in, anyone would have time to stare at their own
reflections for hours on end. It gets weirder when you notice that that is
exactly what you are doing. Hours spent on admiring your own face in the
mirror, totally disregarding that there’s work to do. Time that should and
could be used for something useful, are being spent on wondering how amazing
your eyes look today. This son of god was called Narcissus, and I’m called a
narcissist.
Narcissism, at
the most surface level is an expression of ultimate self-love and what’s a
better way to show love than staring at you and giving compliments. It is nice
that someone at least noticed my new hair, even if it myself. Since I was
small, I can remember being fascinated by my own reflection. I could spend days
watching my own face. I would have conversations with myself: I would solve all
the problems of the world during these conversations. I was a brilliant genius
and for some reason I was the only one that noticed. My fascination with
mirrors started with my ballet. I was constantly surrounded by mirrors and told
to watch myself. This made a lot of the other girls self-conscious but all I
could see in that mirror was the best ballet dancer in the room, probably in
the world. I could not see any faults, which almost in a way defeated the
purpose of us seeing ourselves, for that was supposed to make us spot our
mistakes better. I was raised to believe in myself and do what I thought was
right, to stand my ground and judge everything for myself. I’m not the only
child, but I am the youngest. I was expected to follow my brother and exceed
everything he has ever done. So instead of actually being the best, I just led
myself to believe I’m the best. This then leads to me to think that others
aren’t up to my standards of greatness.
Thinking that most people aren’t good enough
to tell me what to do, might be taken as an authority problem. And that is
exactly what it is, I don’t believe in authorities unless I can see basis for
them. This often gets me into trouble. Believe it or not, people don’t like
hearing that they are not good enough. Getting into trouble isn’t a problem for
me though. I tend to have a great skill to get out of everything without even a
scratch. It is a good skill for someone like me. It isn’t that I’d be a great
liar, I don’t see a point in lying when I can just bend and twist the circumstances
to my benefit. Bending and twisting does normally lead to casualties, mostly
always totally innocent ones. I have a vivid memory of myself when I was about
seven. It was winter and I was in school. It was freezing weather and everyone
was wearing hats and gloves, the works. I got this brilliant idea to steal this
other girl’s beanie and shove it into shrubbery. Like you’d imagine I got into
trouble. It was called bullying and I was told that I’d get detention and my
parents would be called to the school. That was the case until I played the
crying little girl act and started acting as if I had no idea that what I did
was wrong. I also told that some older boys made me do it, I even named some
names. They got into trouble, a lot of trouble, for well they now bullied a
little girl to bully another little girl. I said I don’t lie, well I usually
don’t lie. These boys got all the blame for something I did, yet I didn’t feel
the slightest bit affected by this. My life went on, I stopped crying my
alligator tears the second I was released from the office and didn’t care one
bit what was to happen to these boys. All I know that might have been the start
of actual bullying cycle. It’s not that I don’t care I just don’t feel like I
have time nor want to put effort into caring.
Time and effort
are just what a conversation about other people’s lives takes. I just can’t
make myself make that effort. I won’t stop you from telling me how you wore
your shirt the wrong way around for the day, or how you lost your keys, but you
can rest assure that I will be thinking in my head about how my story would be
a lot more interesting –which it probably wouldn’t be. And that is exactly what
they are stories. Everything I tell people are stories, not lies but stories.
Ask me the same question more than once and you will get a different answer
every time but using the same words. I don’t see any point in showing anyone
who I truly am. No one is truly perfect enough to actually have the ‘honour’ of
getting to know me. Telling stories is a game for me, and it started much like
everything else when I was young. I spent a lot of time in hospitals seeing
different doctors every week. I started of telling just what was wrong and that
only. I’d tell all of them what was wrong, yet all of them ignored me and kept
pushing me into more and more tests and new doctors. Every doctor would ask the
same old questions and would still ignore my same old answers. It became a game
of how long and wide I could strength my facts until someone notices. It was
much a cry for attention, I hated them ignoring me. Ignoring and not listening
to me. This is why I tell stories, so that I won’t be ignored. At least no one
ignores me when they are too busy trying to put together the pieces of what
I’ve told them to actually get a clear picture of who I am.
Mirrors,
manipulation and a fear of being ignored. These are the things that make up my
narcissism. The definition of narcissism says that a narcissist cannot admit
it. When you see yourself as someone who has no flaws, you should not be able
to see narcissism. But I do not see it as a flaw. How can love be a flaw?
Aren’t we all taught to love ourselves? I might have problems such as a
difficulty with authority and a tendency to manipulate others, but for I am –as
a whole- perfect, that makes those problems quite perfect too doesn’t it.
Someone telling me that as a narcissist I cannot say I’m a narcissist is
absurd. I see no basis for this, someone else than me telling me that I don’t
think I’m perfect enough to be classified as a ultimate self-lover, because I’m
aware of my own feelings of self-love. Ultimately though what do I care, I’m
always right anyway.
Word count: 1300
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