Narcissistic women need men in their lives to protect them, which fuels their behavior. I suggest you tape this to your refrigerator.
Diagnostic criteria for 301.50 Histrionic [Narcissistic] Personality Disorder [with some flourish from me]
Women with narcissistic personality disorder exhibit pervasive patterns of excessive emotionality and attention seeking, beginning by early childhood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five [or more] of the following:
1] She is uncomfortable in situations in which she is not the center of attention.
2] Her interactions with others are often characterized by inappropriate sexually seductive or provocative behavior.
Jay: I notice this with alcoholics and women who can’t get their meds straight.
3] She displays rapidly shifting and shallow expression of emotions.
4] She consistently uses physical appearance to draw attention to self.
Jay: Why they included this one is beyond me, since every hot woman on the earth would be forced to check it.
5] She has a style of speech that is excessively impressionistic and lacking in detail.
6] She shows-self-dramatization, theatricality and exaggerated expression of emotion.
7] She considers relationships to be more intimate than they actually are.
Jay: Narcissistic women gravitate to enablers who fuel their grandiosity. This keeps them in denial about things that aren’t as grand.
There is, in fact, life outside of their own. Of course, you’d be hard pressed to make that point without an abrupt turn in the conversation and subsequent dismissal for failure to fan their delusions.
Okay, let’s get down to business.
Note: We children of narcissistic parents carry a heavy cross. We have to fill in all the blanks our parents left in a state of impressionism. So we’re particularly sensitive to narcissistic behavior. It’s in our blood and we are forever recovering.
With this in mind, both genders are hostile to beauty.
It’s the way of things. Competition is at the root of survival. Where there’s life, there’s a reason it exists, and it’s always the same reason. Asteroids and black holes are exceptions to this rule if only because their grandiosity is exceeds out ability to medicate it.
Anyway, men who perceive a woman to be out of their leagues will often harass them, and/or reduce them to stereotypes in an effort to salvage their porous egos.
Another ploy to level the playing field is to offer all-expense-paid trips to Spain in private jets, which brings us back to stereotyping and harassment, so it’s a wash.
The ploys are endless, but a necessary part of the process of competition, and ultimately, survival.
Beauty is a drug we can’t live without if survival is our objective.
Frankly, this is one irony I can’t live without.
Women envy the beauty of other women, so they resort to cattiness and other strategery designed to destabilize or weaken their position in the food chain. Their best option is to befriend them and then exploit them from within once they feel secure. No matter how you look at it, the whole damn thing is like chipping away at the Berlin wall.
So at the end of the day, beauty is a mixed blessing.
What this means is that in order for a beautiful woman to be freely beautiful, she must feel protected. This usually comes in the form of a handsome and/or powerful man everyone admires; someone who dotes on her as though his life depended on it.
This is the Holy Grail to the female narcissist. He is her stage, her lighting, her audience…and her fuel.
We love each other so much. [see #7]
We’re inextricable. [see #7]
Fused. [see #7]
One. [see #7]
I have my blessed man so fucking nailed down to me that he wouldn’t leave if his life depended on it, not that he has one without me, but he doesn’t need to know that. I don’t even know that. But as long as this union exists I don’t have think about it and that’s all that matters to us, and to everyone who aspires to be us.
[see #1, #3, #5, #6]
He loves me more than his own life. It’s a kind of perverse idolatry, which I encourage and exploit.
[see #7, again]
Everything about him is perfect, so much so that I document our union on Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, LinkedIn, Flickr, local gossip magazines and social gatherings which afford me the opportunity to fuel even greater speculation and fantasy.
[start with #1 and re-read the entire list]
In public, no one else exists. And he carries me through this fantasy like an indentured servant. I am so in love with myself, and the envy of everyone fuels my persona. My evasiveness alone charges the atmosphere like an atom bomb with fantasies and speculation about me a union they will never know. With my man fused to my side like a heroin addict in a poppy field, I am free to wander the earth like a God.
[at this point, feel free to move on to the chapters covering psychosis and hallucinations]
I post photos of him in his most glorious moments to fan the flames of my own narcissism. See it’s not about him as much as it’s about how much a man of his stature loves me, which turns the focus back on me.
In short, he is my God and I am his Princess. He worships me and I worship him. So I guess we’re both fucked. No, I didn’t say that! It must have been those goddamned blogs of Jay Rusovich. I didn’t think or say that at all! We’re like a Hollywood movie. We’ve transcended the human condition. He makes love to me 10 times a day and never fails to rise to the occasion. We orgasm together – each and every time – as if our relationship were guided by celestial forces.
No! He is not sleeping with a transvestite!
Stopping Jay Rusovich is the new focus of my life. No, I don’t mean sole focus, just one focus, because the real focus is my wonderful boyfriend.
I cut a little piece of his skin off every morning and drop it in my coffee. He does the same thing so we never feel distant. I am a psychopath. No! I am not a goddamned psychopath! Go away, Jay Rusovich. Your venom is a nightmare … and contagious. You should be exterminated. My life is perfect. Are you listening? Perfect! Look at the picture. Observe his behavior towards me in public. You don’t even know his name because he doesn’t want to meet you or anyone else. He adores me. Holds covets me like oxygen. Everyone else is completely invisible to him. He takes care of his body and then comes home to take care of mine. His focus is narrow and I’m in its cross hairs. No I am not a pathological narcissist. No I don’t need anyone else’s affirmation. Shut the fuck up, Jay Rusovich. Shut up and go away! My life is perfect and you’re just jealous that some of us transcend the human condition.
Poppy farmers sometimes feel the same way. No, I did not just say that!
I find it fascinating that the very security and freedom these relationships provide narcissistic men and women are also the windows through which one can observe the unfettered behavior of the insane.