In Session 15: The Narcissist
He came in for help because he was like his mother
He looked like a cop in his off the rack blue suit, a white shirt and tie. Some guys look like they were dressed by a municipality. His teeth were big, white and even as caps. I think they were caps. His face was movie star symmetrical and his hairline was full and assertive, like a eunuch’s. His eyes were so gold they looked like costume jewelry.
He took one of the Danish designer chairs, with arms that curve up to join the back, which has a headrest extending on up. A stuffed leather sling is over a rosewood frame, so that it’s like sitting in your mother’s lap.
“I love this chair,” he said. He had told me on the phone that an ex girlfriend was confronting him about being a malignant narcissist. “She says I owe her, but I don’t know what she’s talking about. How much do women usually charge a malignant narcissist when things go south?”
“There’s a lot of pain and suffering compensation,” I said. “Deception, gaslighting, not loving her … a whole list of charges. I figure she’s coming after you for at least a hundred grand.”
His face darkened. “I don’t know why I decided to become a narcissist,” he said. “I looked in the mirror one morning and we just clicked. I realized there was nobody I liked more than me and I wanted to be with somebody who wanted to be part of that.” “Part of your love for yourself?” “You’re the psychiatrist. All I know is that I went downhill from there. First it was manicures and a personal trainer, then it went malignant and I moved to pedicures and manscaping. My shirts were top shelf Japanese linen. I spent money on myself, sure, but it was worse than that. I gave myself psychological support and justified my behavior as personal freedom.” His voice cracked and I knew he’d hit an emotional place, one he was used to keeping hidden from himself. He got control of the muscles and went on.
“When I think about that innocent woman who mistook me for the kind of man she was looking for, I wish she’d never met me. She didn’t realize that when a quality is utterly lacking in a man, there’s nothing to interfere with her projection. She just looks in the mirror and they click.”
“You were the mirror for her. What did she see there?” “A malignant narcissist,” he said. “The hour, she is up,” I said. “Just make the check to The Lay Psychiatrist.”