Tag: narcissism

They’re Horrible People

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Horrible people are fascinating. They confuse us, they entertain us, and fascinate us. We talk about them all the time. “Did you hear what Sandy did the other day? Ohmigosh, how could she do that? How can she sleep at night?” We love shows and movies about them doing horrible things to one another. We can’t understand them, and how they think they can get away with it. They do. They think a lot about this. They cross their T’s and dot their I’s, and they figure out the best way to do something awful to us without ramifications. It took me a while to figure out it’s not about me, and I’m here to tell you it’s not about you either, or whatever innocent victim they prey upon. It’s about them. They’re horrible people. 

When we talk about horrible people doing horrible things in such discussions, we often limit our discussion to there dastardly doing dastardly things, as opposed to violent criminals committing violent acts. We talk about people who legally manage to ruin the lives of those around them. We talk about a nephew who drains an uncle’s life savings, before forcing him into a care facility; a sister who steals her mentally deficient brother’s inheritance; and a man who poisons the neighbor’s dog. We talk about little people who do little things, because they are so frustrated with their station in life that they develop a twisted logic and justification for what they do.

How many horrible people know they’re horrible. I’m sure they are out there, but I’ve never met one. The most horrible people I’ve met can’t understand why I would say that. They seem genuinely perplexed by the charge. “Well, what about the time you did this?” we ask. “I mean c’mon, even you can see that was pretty awful.”

“What was he going to do with it anyway?” they say. The only thing missing from their ability to pull justifications on us is the “Ta-dah!” punctuation. They rarely if ever address the moral turpitude of their actions. It’s dog-eat-dog to them. It’s take, take, take. They have no conscience, no guilt, and no shame. It’s about getting theirs before anyone else can. 

They tell us a story of a dastardly figure doing something dastardly. “Wait a second, you did that. It wasn’t the exact same thing, but you did something so close that I can’t believe you’re calling this other person out.” They don’t see it. They don’t think the way we do.  

Is it wrong to put Uncle Joe into a subpar care facility after taking all of his money? “If he goes into a care facility, the state will take his estate to help pay for his care?” they say.

“Okay, but he could’ve afforded a better facility.” They didn’t even consider that. We can see it on their face.

“What’s the difference?” they say. “He still gets his pillows propped, three square meals a day, and a couple Jell-O squares.” They don’t consider the role this man played in their maturation. They don’t think about those times their uncle bought them peanut M&M’s in the gas station, or the fishing trips he took them on when he was in his prime, and they were very young. He’s a feeble senior citizen now. He’s not the same man he was in their youth.

“But this is our Uncle Joe?” his sisters say, “and you were his favorite.” 

They have answers, scripted answers that they developed long before this confrontation. It doesn’t matter what they say, because it really doesn’t matter to them what they say. They probably won’t even remember what they said five minutes after they said it, because they just don’t care. We might call them psychopaths, sociopaths, or level some charge of narcissism at them, but those are just names. Kids called them names on the playground, and it hurt back then. We’re adults now, and names are meaningless to us now. So, we back it up with detail, detailed descriptions of what they did, and the loved one to whom they did it. Pfft, it means nothing to them, and we know these people. We know some of them better than anyone else in the world, and we now know that they’re horrible people. It undercuts everything we thought we knew.

Uncle Joe wasn’t a rich man. His life’s savings proved embarrassingly paltry, but it’s theirs now, and they managed to secure the transfer of wealth in such a legal manner that the sisters’ lawyers inform them that it would be wildly expensive and ultimately foolish to challenge it.

They’re going to get theirs before you do.

The sisters could try to trap the nephew with some damning portrayals of what he did, but how do they trap someone who has no conscience, feels no guilt, and has no shame? Even if they were to corner him in a casual conversation that they could not make legally binding, they wouldn’t get anywhere, because it would basically turn into a war of words in which one party wins, and the other party loses, and he can’t lose that argument, because he doesn’t care.

I prefer to think that most people are good, and while I’ve been dealt a barrage of “you’re so naïve”, it has served me well. Having said that, I’m not blind to the fact that there are some horrible people we call friends, in our families, and those waving to us with a mower in front of them. I’ve talked to them so often I know how they tick, I’ve met their mothers and talked to that cousin who cemented that logic in their head. 

When you sit down and talk to them, with mugs of beer between you, they say the most wonderful things. Some of the times, they even manage to drop a few words that expand our philosophy and rationale. Unbeknownst to us, they know right and wrong, but they obviously don’t think it applies in all situations, everywhere in life. “We all experience updrafts and downdrafts in life,” they say, “and you deal with them accordingly.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” they continue, “and it wasn’t built in one way, or the way they tell you.” This philosophy aligns with the narrative that some of the times you have to do things you don’t want to do to build an empire. It also aligns with the idea that most rich people got theirs by doing awful things to whomever stood in their way, and our friends want to climb that ladder by whatever means necessary.

Horrible people sell their soul for money, but when we see the jet skis sitting next to the brand new mower, we think, “You sold your soul for this?” No, they have a motor boat sitting at a dock, and next month they’re headed to Cancun. So, we’re inching toward the five figure territory for turning your back on one of the few people on the planet who actually cared about them. They don’t mind the fact that in the aftermath of their theft, they will turn their whole family against them, and they don’t mind damaging their soul. They don’t believe in all that schmuck.   

Horrible people tell their family, at the last second, that they cannot attend a family dinner to honor their recently-deceased mother. “I’m sorry, I have a conflict.” Then, when the family sets out for the restaurant, she enters the family home, knowing that they will be out, and she steals all of her mother’s most valuable items. She obviously doesn’t think about how she’s disgracing her mother’s memory in some way and how that act could lead others to think she might be awful. Those thoughts don’t even enter her mind. She was just getting hers before her brother could stake a claim to one of the items. “The funny thing is if she challenged me on these items,” the brother said, “I would’ve let her have all of them.” We don’t know what happened in this situation, but anyone who knows anything about the collectible’s market knows that if she pawned everything she stole, she would probably end up enjoying one Burger King value meal.

Some people believe karma holds some kind of existential power. I don’t. I’ve seen far too many people escape awful deeds unharmed to believe that if we do bad things to people bad things will happen to us. The most successful refutation I received arrived after I had a brief, tumultuous confrontation with an unusually awful person was, “He has to live with himself.” 

“You think he feels guilty?” I asked, “because I got the feeling he doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.”

“Oh, I don’t either,” he said. “I’m not talking about guilt. I’m talking about how he must live. A person who acts like that cannot be happy. Something drives a person to act like that. I’m guessing he either has an awful wife, or he treats her horribly. Either way, if someone was dumb enough to marry him, they probably now live a life of abject misery. And if she agreed to bring children into their world with him, imagine how miserable they must be. Most of all, think about what must be like for him to live with himself. Outbursts like that are not common. Internal misery causes people like that to unleash on the world around them. You talk about final damnation, and all that. I think it’s much simpler than that. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. He’s living his own version of hell every day of his life.”

How do awful people live with themselves? First, they don’t consider themselves awful. They don’t think about what they’ve done as bad, or if they do, they punctuate it with bromides, such as, “It’s only bad if you get caught.” They say that as a joke, but they say it so often that we can’t help but think that they believe it. “It’s not a lie if you believe it,” is another bromide they might ask their loved ones to chisel into their gravestone, or, “It’s not stealing if you take things from those who have if you are a have-not.”   

Even those of us who ascribe to some of these tenets of moral relativism must recognize that there has to be an internal accumulation of misery to be that miserable, and it manifests itself in a variety of ways.

One of my office managers was not what anyone would call an awful person. He devoted his life to his son, he laughed a lot, and he had such wonderful views that those making bullet points would insist that they absolutely prevent him from ever being on a list of horrible people. When the opportunity arose, however, he did every awful thing he could think of to me, as my manager, and within the constraints of the company handbook. I found out later that he committed suicide, and no one knew why. My best guess is that it wasn’t any one thing in particular. It probably had more to do with the accumulation. 

The one thing I learned from working with this manager was that it’s never enough. He asked me questions about my current straits in the workplace. I had no idea that he was looking for some satisfaction. I now believe that he thought if he could transfer some of his misery to me, he might be a little less miserable, and it might quench a thirst of some sort. He learned that genuinely happy people can be happy no matter what type of misery we try to put them through. In the aftermath of our tenure together, I think he expected me to hate him. I didn’t. I greeted him as I had the day before we started working together. My guess is he was very disappointed by that. 

Does it help us to think that horrible people lead horrible lives? Does it help us to think that the reason they hate us so much is because they hate their home, their family, their career, and themselves? We all have insecurities, and when someone develops that much animosity for us, we’re inclined to look inward. Based on my limited experience with horrible people, they think that way too. They think it’s our fault that they’re temporarily miserable, and if they can fix us, they can fix themselves. If they had the ability to acknowledge the source of the problem, they might have fixed it long ago. They don’t, so they focus their energy on fixing us in the most awful ways they can manage within corporate constraints. 

How do they sleep at night? How can they do such things and think nothing of it? If it’s not entertaining, it’s a least fascinating to think that more often than not, these people get away with it, and they have no remorse. They cross their T’s and dot their I’s, and they take, take, take, and they try to make us as miserable as they are.  

My advice, based on my brief experience with this type of person is try to do everything in your power to make them irrelevant in your life. This is impossible in some cases, as some of the times horrible people have the power and ability to make our lives more miserable, but in cases like these, happiness can, indeed, be the best revenge.  

Everything from Z to A: Hating the Hypocrite

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“‘He’s a hypocrite, and I hate hypocrites!’” Z said imitating a woman complaining about someone. The tone Z used to imitate the speaker informed A that Z had no respect her complaint. “Wait a second, so you’re philosophically pure? Let me guess, this hypocrite is someone who won’t let you do something. I’m also going to guess that the two of you know that you’re going to do it anyway, because you’re a grown woman who can do whatever she wants, but you know you’re going to feel guilty about it. Calling them a hypocrite is your super-secret way of breaking them down, so you transfer to him whatever guilt you might feel for doing it anyway.” 

“You said all that to her?” A asked. 

“Of course not,” Z said, “but I wanted to, and she seemed like the type of person who needed to hear it.”  

“I no longer ask who is hypocritical,” A said. “I now ask who is not? Seriously, it’s such a malleable charge that we’re all vulnerable to it. The idea that anyone practices what they preach 100% of the time is just silly. Some might be more hypocritical than others, of course, but we’re all vulnerable to the charge. Anytime I hear someone say something like, ‘I hate hypocrites!’ My first thought is, I know I could nail you on something, and I know you could nail me. It’s such a situational charge that I just don’t take it serious anymore.” 

“Hypocrite.”

“Funny.”

“If we had a third party sitting here,” Z said. “You couldn’t, ‘No, you’re a hypocrite’ me. That would be childish, and you’d know it, so I’d win. By accusing you of being a hypocrite first, I would insulate myself from the charge.”

“How many of us evaluate the person making the charge?” A asked. “How many of us analyze their motivations? We’re more apt to get behind the indignant and righteous raised fist of the speaker.” 

“We might call this psychological projection, and we might also wonder if the projector suffers from some faulty wiring that could lead to a fire if we don’t inspect for narcissism?” 

“Narcissism is another charge I hear bandied about.” 

“How do we lose contact with external realities?” Z said. “Narcissism lines most low-level impairments, and they can be resolved with some acknowledgement of narcissism.”   

“Narcissism might be as situational and malleable a charge as hypocrisy,” A said. 

“It could be,” Z agreed, “but wouldn’t that put us in some kind of obscene circle.” 

“With everyone labeling the person to their left a synonym of imposter?” 

“The imposter synonyms,” Z said, “or the imposter syndrome?” 

“The imposter syndrome is more of an internal psychological concept we use to explain those who feel guilty for achieving something,” A said. “Who am I to achieve this level of success? Everyone is going to eventually find out that I’m a fraud. A syndrome tends to be more internal, but when we project it outward to others, we might want to call it a phenomenon. The imposter phenomenon.” 

“Whatever the name is,” Z said. “When we project it outwards, we’re saying everyone to the left of us is a fraud, an imposter, a hypocrite, everyone except me.” 

“And that comes equipped with its own level of insecurity,” A said. “I might not be much, but at least I’m not an imposter, or a fraud, like you. Then, we have those who get behind us when we make these charges of hypocrisy or narcissism, and we form groups against the other. Divided we stand. Divided we fall.” 

“But we prefer to fall strong,” Z said, “we fall stronger than we would be if we stood alone. Charges like hypocrisy can unify. Let’s say you didn’t get a promotion because another was more qualified. We could sit around and be sad, or we could get righteously indignant, and what better way to get angry than to have a group get behind us and all the charges we level.” 

“And they don’t have to be true.” 

“They have to be so true to us that we believe it though,” Z said. “That’s essential. We can give excuses, but most of us don’t believe our own excuses. We need something we know to be true, in our hearts, even if it isn’t. Why did Gene hire Joel over me, because Gene is a fraud, hypocrite, imposter! “Sing it sister!” the group shouts, and that vindication and validation gives us a sinister smile.

“I’ve seen it too,” Z continued, “They weave some powerful yarns that they believe. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be so convincing. The yarn they weave is so beautiful that I would love to believe it too. I don’t want to think anything is my fault. I don’t want to think I didn’t receive that promotion because I didn’t have a quality resume, or I didn’t perform well in the interview. I don’t care who you are, rejection hurts, and it’s a painful reminder that I have to improve. Rather than go through all that work, I would much rather believe that there is something wrong with them. There was something wrong with my parents that led me to be the person I am. There’s something wrong with all those girls who rejected my advances. Wouldn’t we all love to live in a world where none of our faults were our fault?”

“I don’t know if it’s because our boss has bosses, and an employee handbook to back him up, but these accusations are less effective in the work place,” A said. “They’re much more effective in the home though. I’m not entirely sure what drives it, but parents seem to care when their kids comment on their performance.” 

“It’s the parent trap,” Z said. “Some parents feel handcuffed by it. I don’t know if it’s repetitive messaging from the movies or what have you, but some people parent their child with a fear that they might one day call them a hypocrite. Who cares, I say. I know I’m different, but I don’t care if my kid calls me a name. I actually relish it when my kid floats his trial balloons. “I hate you,” he says. I laugh, because I know he’s feeling me out and seeing what works best for him. I know I’m different, but I cannot view it as a serious condemnation. Some parents do, they stop the music and say things like, ‘Don’t say you hate me Johnny that hurts mommy’s feelings.’ Screw your feelings, Eloise. Your job is to raise a child into a decent adult.”  

“If it’s in the child’s best interest to follow your rules,” A added. “Your conviction should be solid.” 

“Exactly,” Z said. “You mean to tell me that because I abused alcohol in my youth that I can’t tell my kid not to, because he might hear some stories about my years of drunken debauchery one day and call me a hypocrite. I have no problem with that. I’ll sleep with the same grin I do every night. My experience with alcohol abuse leads me to believe it’s destructive. They say alcohol abuse is genetic, others argue that it has more to do with the climate we were raised in. I don’t know the answer to that, but I want my child to end that legacy. Why wouldn’t I do everything I can to end it, regardless the short-term taints it might have on my presentation? Alcohol abuse is not a divisive issue as most people aren’t against it, but when these parents who abused alcohol in their younger years, debate whether to tell their children not to do the same, do they think their integrity is on the line? If it is, what’s more important, your integrity or your child’s health? 

“Are you going to let your kid talk back to you, because you talked back to your parents?” Z continued. “Ok, she’ll grow up with no respect for authority. You’re going to excuse your child for misbehavior in school, because you misbehaved in school. All because you fear them calling you a hypocrite? As I said, the arrows eventually arrow back to narcissism, and in this case, it’s narcissist to try to achieve some sort of philosophical purity at the expense of your child’s mental health and well-being.”  

“If you need a device, and some parents do,” A added, “tell them what alcohol abuse did to you. Tell them the stories of what happened to you, how many stupid things you said and did while loaded. Tell them about how many days of your life you missed due to hangovers. Tell them how at one point, you couldn’t picture hanging out with friends without alcohol.” 

“Don’t worry about being a hypocrite, a fraud, or an imposter,” Z added, “because you’re going to be all of the above when they want something.” 

“Time heals all wounds,” A said. “I hate to use a cliché here, but it’s really true. There will be times when you are all of the above. You’re flawed and I’m flawed, and we will make mistakes. If we spend more time with them, it will more than make up for any mistakes we make along the way.” 

“And don’t obsess over those mistakes,” Z added. “Don’t worry about being a philosophically pure parent, a cool parent, or their friend. Just be a parent to them.”