Saturday, March 28, 2015

THE LOVES OF A NARCISSIST

In the solitary rumination of a self with the image he promulgates his nebulous thoughts. These thoughts are not overlain with the tincture of intent. As of now they are unformulated. But even in their convoluted permutations in the hinterland of the unconscious something ominous is taking place, something so inexpressibly objectionable that consciousness recoils from it.
The narcissist spins his yarns before the mirror. It is not his physical being as much as his metaphysical nothingness that attracts him, obsesses him. Around the attrition of his inner being he adumbrates his modus operandi. This is not just fun or interesting. It is a necessity, an anchor which buoys him up, in the absence of which an emptiness threatens which is so unassuageable that he'd reach for the razor and slit his veins. Whatever else may or may not be conspicuous the survival instinct is and he channels that in rococo forms of inveiglings and insinuations.
The narcissist has his prey in mind. His talons are sharpened, his molars gleam with malevolent intent. If he were a vampire, which he is figuratively, he'd be drooling, gobs of spit striating his ravenous mouth as he fastens on his target in accordance with his voracious, unfulfillable appetite. She is a young nubile woman who is accessing psychoanalysis to deal with her troubled past. A childhood of abuse with parental altercations has rendered her desirous of love.
After the narcissist and she break up she puts together a coherent account of the narcissist which runs as follows-
The narcissist had a mother who was fiercely possessive and who saw her son as a substitute for her husband. She tightened her hold on him by smothering him with love. The father functioned on the peripheries, on an entirely alien tangent. She made her son the focus of all her resentment and suppressed impulses. In the mother, child, father triad she disallowed the father from looking in. She became a mirror where her son saw his fragmented physiology without the attendant awareness of a symbolic order that would induct him into language and signifiers. Caught in this thoroughly constraining and suffocating dyad they both drain each other out. His mother is his first target.
In the mental institution the mother , who has undergone repeated breakdowns , fails to put together a coherent account. Her disintegration is unremitting, her collapse unequivocal. Memory fails her, narrative lets her down . Yet at unbidden moments her son's apostasy surfaces. She is submerged in a frenzy of self loathing so sincere that she needs to be tied up and drugged. An otherwise tranquil woman, she responds with unconstrained, uncontrollable anger, which also has an undertone of guilt and grief, at these unanticipated visitations. Her son rarely visits her.
The young woman has met the mother. Yet her account, plausible enough, fails to account for the machinations of the narcissist. He sought her out, made her feel special, with a sense of specious triumph. He unleashed on her invectives and objurgations when she discerned his true nature. She held on, hoping he'd change and ensconced herself irrevocably in a predicament she has only lately extricated herself from. She hasn't left him because departure would be his triumph.
What she has done is to institute her counter significations. He thought, unconsciously, that he was actualizing his blueprint of her. She is, imperceptibly , revealing to him the absurdities and distortions of his self created reality. And once the task of complete breaking through takes place she'd move on.
She moves on anyway. She finds a fella who truly loves her.
The narcissist, meanwhile is utterly bereft of company. This solitude neither discomfits nor dispossesses him. He is irretrievably enmeshed in his own mythology. But ,he opines, she tried to consume me but i escaped her. In seeking propinquity he disbuses his inveterate solitariness. But he is now appointed as a university professor. With scarcely a ripple disturbing the mirror, with the unmediated lens of an incontrovertible solipsism he turns to the mirror again. There lies his true homecoming.

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