Mr Perfect

That was the nickname given to me in grade 8. I remember choosing to feel proud of it, deep down knowing there was nothing to be proud of. 

It was the narcissism coupled with the neurological advances of puberty. I always had the right answer. When I didn't there was always a perfectly logical explanation of why it was not my fault.

That was just one of the symptoms, the side effects of the disorder. It is a whole way of thinking and processing that consumes one's life to one's own detriment.

There was a period of about two years, my last year of public school and first year of high school where the narcissism defined me, the way I thought, the way I related. I remember what it was like. It was hell.

Always the underlying fear that someone will see through the lies you're telling yourself. The insecurity of an unexamined life where the goal and belief is to be the expert. The constant churning trying to figure out ways of getting others to validate the lies you tell yourself. It is a prison of tortuous thought over which you have complete control and no hope of escape. You rob yourself of your own power.

"Boy, all this narcissism is really making my life suck. I know what will fix it! More narcissism!"

Certainly not an exact quote, but is exactly what happens.