So, you’re in love with a narcissist. That is SO cool; I’m guessing these are probably the best days of your life. Yeah, they have their foibles, but aren’t they so emotionally satisfying, and just fun, fun, fun?
Let’s peek at some traits.
“Usually above-average intelligence…” Compared to what? They have abilities and can perform necessary tasks just like any other psychopathic lunatic, I’ll give them that. But these people are the stupidest people on Earth. There is ZERO depth to their awareness.
Take your last conversation with him (permit me the traditional pronoun here, please, gender-aware reader). Did you come away feeling enlightened? Enriched? Like you’d ‘shared?’ Or like you’d just tried to speak with a drunken baboon vaunting an attitude problem? Was it a mutually beneficial exchange of ideas, opinions or feelings, or was it you being sane and trying to make the simplest of points and him copping a defensive stance that would make the Iraqi Army jealous, using doublespeak and laughable (if they weren’t so ugly) non sequiturs designed to flummox you and make him look victorious?
IQ aside, only a moron would take a clear statement such as, “You contradicted yourself, and I need to know what you really meant,” and internally process it thusly: ‘RED ALERT! RED ALERT! Attack! Assault! Oh, so I’m contradicting myself, eh? You think I’m just a contradicting, know-nothing, argumentative horse turd, eh? You think I’m just a worthless dumb-ass jerk, eh? Well, I’ll show you!
I’LL GET YOU FOR THAT!’
Look at him with love and devotion and say, “I need to know what you mean when you say, ‘This relationship is a side-track event.’ Do you understand?” He’ll look like a deer caught in your headlights, and then collect himself and say, “Of course I understand. You’re confused by facts and logic.”
“Seeks out adulation…”
Here’s where some of us trip up. We love giving love, and love it when it’s well-received. Here’s the fact of it: It ain’t love they want. Love is deep. Narcissists have the depth of a sidewalk mud puddle. They only want love to the extent that it looks like worship. They like, “Oh, I just loved the way you parked the car. How do you do that, always so straight and just the right distance from the house (moonstruck looks, starry eyes)?” They hate, “I love you, and I was wondering if you thought about the future.” Even if that’s presented after 12 years together, you’re on a romantic boat trip and you’re pregnant, it will be processed thusly:
“RED ALERT! RED ALERT! Assault! Attack! You want to rip away my freedom, eh? Tell me what to do, eh? You think I can just be your puppet? You think YOU should be the one to make these decisions? Well,
I’LL GET YOU FOR THAT!”
And they do. Oh, they do.