“Narcissistic personality disorder is a mental condition in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for excessive attention and admiration, troubled relationships, and a lack of empathy for others. But behind this mask of extreme confidence lies a fragile self-esteem that’s vulnerable to the slightest criticism.” – The Mayo Clinic

As I’ve taken on my many flaws and challenges, one has risen like a soap bubble up above the others – the dangers of becoming a narcissist.

I’m a good candidate. I’m crazy, needy at times, I once had an inflated sense of my own importance, troubled relationships with family and friends, and a sometimes fragile sense of self-esteem.

I also publish a blog which is about my life and take photos, which are usually of my world. I write about how I grieve,  how I love, my wife, my dogs, how I fail, how I struggle. There’s a lot of me in my work, plus I’ve written four memoirs (and understood almost nothing about my life.)

Reading this symptom list from the Mayo Clinic, there are two reasons for hope: one is that I have always valued empathy, and considered it the noblest of all human traits and aspirations. I could not do what I do without empathy and would consider myself a total disaster as a human being if I did not have empathy for other people.

The other thing is that I find myself in the very odd position of having much more in common with the President of the United States than I ever imagined possible. We need to sit down and have a cup of coffee together, we have walked on some of the same ground. Maybe I’ll text him, we ought to talk. I want to assure him that there is  help, and it helps.

I suppose I would have to be narcissistic to some degree to do what I do – writing blog posts, memoirs and books about me. Writers start out obsessing on themselves. John Updike said you have to be a narcissist to write well, you are always taking your own temperature, you are the richest imaginable source of the material.

I have also noticed lately that I am living in an increasingly narcissistic world, the time of the selfie, and phone camera, social media threads, and posts, Facebook friends and groups, Twitter mobs and railings.

When I take the time to scan some of these outpourings, I see that they mostly are about people talking about themselves – how their dogs died, how they miss their parents, what their grandkids are doing, how they feel about the latest news, when they last went to the bathroom, where they are and who with at any given moment.

A narcissistic personality disorder causes problems in many areas of life, says the Mayo Clinic narcissism web page, ” such as relationships, work, school or financial affairs. People with a narcissistic personality disorder may be generally unhappy and disappointed when they’re not given the special favors or admiration they believe they deserve. They may find their relationships unfulfilling, and others may not enjoy being around them.”

And I thought it was the Dyslexia.

Ouch, I was starting to get frightened reading this. I know these symptoms. Are they still speaking about me?

I do not want to be a narcissist (anymore) and will do almost anything to avoid that fate.

The good news, said the clinic, is that narcissistic personality disorder is treatable, recommended treatment being talk therapy.

I took a deep breath. I had 30 years of talk therapy, and I believe it transformed me, eventually, and a great cost.  I got a second chance. Turns out, I didn’t like me nearly as much as I thought I did. Some people think they have all the answers, I think I  have none.

What a mess I must have been. A therapist looked me in the eye, wagged her finger at me, and told me I had lost perspective after I suggested my photos were better than the Ansel Adams prints hanging on her reception area walls.

Suddenly, I saw the light. I was living in delusion. I swore I was going to change if it killed me because if I didn’t, I would die soon anyway, a living death. It was an ugly trip, learning who I really was. I nearly drowned in shame and humility.

The upside of my narcissism was that I thought I was worth saving, that I might have a life worth living once I could see beyond my own mess. Maybe my ego saved me.

I will be honest, I am not a stable genius, but I am getting stable. Narcissism wasn’t my only problem, probably not even the worst.

And my work with the Army Of Good is so good for me. In the refugee and the immigrant, the elderly and the memory-impaired, I am pulled out of myself every single day of my life, I swim in a river of empathy and humility.

I once was lost, but now am found. Narcissism is not for me.