Narc

After going to two months of meetings, I have decided that AA may not be for me, because I'm having trouble connecting to the people -- as I often do in large groups.  I also have this nagging feeling that I may be susceptible to any addiction right now -- to work, to food, to sex, to anxiety meds, etc -- because of the emotional baggage I've been carrying around. So, I decided to see a counselor that has experience with addiction.

My first appointment was last week. My husband has been trying to coax me into therapy for years. But I was absolutely terrified of baring my soul to anyone and of being so vulnerable, and so always put it off. I have been nervous a month, running through my head the questions she might ask and the answers I will give, and telling myself not to soften the truth like I do for everybody else. She's here to help me, and she can't unless I give myself fully to the process.

Three minutes in, I was bawling. She asked me where I thought the alcoholism was rooted, I said anxiety, she asked me where I thought the anxiety was rooted in, and I said work and my family -- no -- my parents -- no -- my mom. And then the stories from my childhood poured out, in tears and lip quivers. For once, they were the actual cruelstories without any editing to reduce the pity the other person might feel for me.

And then she asked me if I knew what Narcissistic Personality Disorder was. She described it, and told me that it sounds like my mother may have it, and that it's poisoning me, and that people with narcissistic parents often have to put up walls between themselves and their parents to protect themselves....that they sometimes I have to cut them off entirely.

I cried the whole way home, the whole night and the next day, as I researched what this meant. It meant that maybe she never loved me, because she's incapable of it. I have always thought that she doesn't have the 'mother gene'. But maybe I was wrong, maybe its that she has the 'me gene'. It meant that all of my memories have to be looked through this different lens.

And then, that's all I could think of...all my memories through this new lens. Doesn't it explain the blatant difference in treatment between my sister and I our entire lives? Doesn't it explain her snooping into anything she could use against me? Doesn't it explain her inability to complement except when it is inappropriate, and her ability to cut my legs out from under me during the times that should be nothing but celebratory?

It's exhausting. But exhilarating.

It wasn't me! IT ISN'T ME! I never could understand why no matter what I did, it wasn't good enough. And now I do! No matter what I do, it could never be good enough to get due (or any!) praise or unconditional love from her.

And now, I need to look through my own personality through this lens. How did this affect me? In what ways has my emotional health been affected by this environment? What do I need to do to protect myself from the narcissistic poison?

I was terrified of it, but tearing myself apart and finding where my roots end might just be kind of great.

sponsor

I am not an open person. I barely know what I'm feeling myself; I tend to just stew in my emotions, not explain them out.  I don't like talking about the past, especially the not-so-happy parts of it.  I don't like the idea that somebody could know me better than I know myself; in fact, the implication would infuriate me. But, that's exactly how I was able to hide my alcoholism so well for so long: I didn't even realize that I had a problem, I just knew I didn't want my husband to know I was secretly gulping glasses of wine down when he wasn't looking.

For the health of my relationship, I have been working on these things. But I still don't like it. Especially with people I don't know and don't fully trust. When I tell you something, I want to know what you're going to think before I even say it.  There are a lot of people in my life who have called me perfect at one time or another. It is completely untrue, but I've worked damn hard to seem that way, and god forbid you see through it.  That's aprtly why I have always alluded therapy, though I've done enough crazy, stupid things in my life that it's warranted. Well, that, and I don't want someone else to get to the bottom of my problems before I do -- because I don't know that I want anybody to see where the bottom of my problems rests.

So, when I say that the idea of an AA sponsor makes me uncomfortable, put it in the context that I have to work to be open with myself, let alone anybody else, let alone a stranger. And if I'm just going to mask myself to them, is one even worth having?

I've been feeling pushed by my AA group to get a sponsor. I'm not ready for it yet. I want to know the person first. I want to have felt them out. But, should I abandon that comfort, knowing that it'll just be reason to avoid telling the full truth to them? Should I just bare it all, knowing that I'll never know this person in any other context than AA?

Step One.

I went to my first AA meeting a little less than a week ago. To be honest, I sat there, shaking and crying silently through most of it. It wasn't because I missed alcohol, or because I didn't want to be there, or because I was happy to finally be getting help. My mind kept repeating, over and over: "This can't be my life. This can't be my life. This can't be my life." I was, and often still am, in complete disbelief that AA has to be a part of my life.

Both sides of my family tree are littered with alcoholism.  I had been diligent, I thought, about making rules for myself regarding drinking so that I would never have a problem. It's not okay to drink when stressed. It's not okay to drink to feel better. It's not okay just because you "feel" like one. It's not okay to drink alone. I designed these rules to make it only okay to drink socially with friends, family or coworkers.

My rules seemed like they were working. But the Devil side of my mind would often get around the rules: "I shouldn't drink, because I'm alone...but I haven't been sleeping, and that's more important right now" -- ignoring the fact that I was using alcohol to lull me to sleep. My mind was full of work-arounds I could call on as necessary. I would amend, or append, or ignore as I wished, but having the rules at all gave me the peace of mind it took to continue on my path.

While tapping her finger on her temple, a woman at my first AA meeting told me: "We are much more conniving than we know," to which the crowd around us agreed. My mind instantly responded with, "I'm not like these women. I didn't get kids taken away from me, or a DUI, or have any relationship problems because of my drinking. I'm not like that. It's not like that." Even though I had enjoyed the catharsis of AA, I became increasingly convinced that it wasn't for me.

As I was driving home from orchestra practice two days later, I kept thinking that it wasn't fair that I didn't get a farewell drink. I kept thinking that I could stop somewhere and get one last drink. For the entire half an hour drive, I couldn't empty my head of all the options I had to just have one final glass of wine. Increasingly, those thoughts were punctuated by panic: what if I am like those women? When I got home, I laid down next to my husband, and told him how conniving my brain was being, all the thoughts that I was having that were telling me to drink and to lie to him and everybody about it. And only after that was I able to stop obsessing.

It's commonly heard that the first step is admitting you have a problem -- but I think it takes more than that. I think that by time you're willingly at an AA meeting, you're already pretty sold on the idea that you have a problem. I realize that it takes a lot of naivete to be saying something like this a week into sobriety, but I think the "aha" moment of Step 1 is realizing that your problem is on the exact same level as everybody else with alcoholism: we are all powerless, particularly when it comes to alcohol. And to stay healthy, we have to stay the hell away from drinking.

As the wise woman in AA said, my mind is more conniving than I know. So, I think talking is the answer. I'll show my evil mind for what it really is. I was able to feed my alcoholism by hiding it diligently. To recover, I need to expose it incessantly.