Once upon a time, many years ago, I met a beautiful and talented woman who quickly became my friend. She was like me: interested in poetry, people, art, and ideas. It was fun, but we could also sit in (relative) silence. It felt natural.
I admired her dedication to her work and her art, and considered her, in a way, a mentor. In this way young girls looked up to older girls – and this was probably because I was still young in my twenties. interesting. Interested in finding new friends.
Exploratory. Somewhat unsafe. You were the perfect person for someone to scoop and shape.
She was a little older than me, fashionable, bold and… worthy. But I loved that about her, the way she could command a room as soon as she entered. The way she was was memorable enough without being an attention-consuming obsessive.
The way she expected people to do what she wanted or needed them to do was because she was lazy, busy, or “creative.”
She literally asked her friends to bring her food because she was “in the middle of writing.” It was always phrased in a whiny “Pllllleeeeeaseeee, I’ll love you forever” voice, as if you had to earn her love through work. It was disgusting and tempting at the same time. I wanted to be like her… kind of. Except that I couldn’t find a little interest in others.
But what I realized was that she wasn’t like me because there was a real lack of empathy there — a kind of social resistance to empathy and a lack of real concern for other people’s talents, accomplishments, ideas, or feelings. What she mistook for charisma was actually a pattern of narcissism, designed to feed her ego or protect her from the idea that she was inadequate. That was sad. But that wasn’t all.
- She was obsessed with herself.
We were walking down a gorgeous New York City street and she was looking into every window reflection, taking stock of herself. Instead of the sky, the garden, the people – or anything else – she was the one focusing on her.
I decided that this represented some kind of insecurity (understandable) or maybe even a healthy crush (I guess that’s normal?), but after a while, it became impossible to even have dinner with her where there was a mirror or window, where her reflection was clear. Always dine with us. She needed to talk about her appearance, talk about her body in relation to other people’s bodies, compare herself to others and talk about herself.
Most women had body image issues, and this was mixed with an obsession with self-aggrandizement. This was a conversation between a friend and a friend about body issues; It was just a void of, “I’m amazing and I want to look at myself.” Who knows what was under the surface. This made me feel insecure, like maybe I was in the wrong body if I didn’t look like her.
- She knew what was right for me and didn’t let me share my own thoughts.
When she knew I was upset about a very personal and very painful family situation, she would try to teach me why I should or shouldn’t feel a certain way. My estranged father was just “shit,” and I was better off without him, despite my obvious interest in reconnecting. My new book would be better without X or Y.
She will try to teach me how to do the skills I know how to do. Whether it was subtle or overt, there was always this feeling that she needed to be right, I needed to learn from her (again, “mentor” woefully deviated), and that she could guide me toward all the right choices.
There was no listening, no asking what I was thinking, and no desire to help me work through my own ideas. If it was my pain, it was her story. And God forbid I made the choice she suggested, then she was my actual savior.
Related: 6 Signs You’re In Love With A Serious Narcissist
- She was convinced that everyone was jealous of her.
Women can smell jealousy. We nurture it, feel it and, unfortunately, act on it. its a problem. But there is a difference between understanding the language of jealousy in the female world and calling it the “jealousy card” when things do not go your way. She would do this, over and over again.
Once upon a time, we had a mutual friend. This mutual friend was renting a book for a concert. When my friend didn’t get the job, it was because the hiring manager was “jealous.” She would say things like, “Obviously it’s because she’s not happy with herself. I mean, look at her. You’ve put her through stress.” In my friends’ eyes, she couldn’t possibly have been the right person. It must be jealousy, projected onto the other person.
This has happened so many times that I’ve learned to expect it. Mostly, it was painful to see my narcissistic friend justify why he wasn’t “good enough” by putting it on someone else. This is a very bad behavior pattern that feeds on itself, and if no one yells at it, it will continue. I never called her and she continued. If I did, I’m sure she’d think I was jealous of her too.
- She knew everyone and everyone knew her.
It doesn’t matter who you know or what you can offer. It was about what you could offer. This actor she met once. That man who worked at the club’s door. Head of an organization. And it was all about how to convince these people to give us something. Because she needed to be seen as offering something, and that was seen as powerful.
She met a musician, had dinner with “that guy from that TV show,” and met “the president of the company.” I’ve never been able to get an edge in terms of words. It doesn’t matter if I don’t even want to meet these people. It was supposed to make her look good. And I was supposed to need it because of that.
- It became clear that she was actually obsessed with consuming attention.
She didn’t do it in obvious ways. She was an energy vampire, preying silently. Talking to people, telling people at a house party to leave and come to her “much nicer” apartment. Making sure she gets credit for anyone’s work.
