I would do anything to gain power and respect. Anything. It’s a craving, a gnawing hunger almost. A narcissistic need to get praise, respect, admiration and attention. It didn’t use to be like that.
When I look back on my childhood, I suppose I’ve always been ragingly narcissist. I made lists of ways to get famous, to the question of what I wanted to be when I grew up I almost always answered with “Important”, “Famous” or “Powerful” -at the age of 6, mind you- and somewhere deep inside me I harbored a feeling of entitlement, a feeling that one day I would make them all cower and blush in shame at the way they treated me. I know those things and I’m not proud of them. Even though I still answer the question with said answers and the feeling of entitlement is all but gone.
Yet, even though I was narcissistic, it didn’t really inhibit me. I only had to look at other people’s reactions to me, their scowls, or simply my mirror image, to get my feet planted firmly on the ground again when I started dreaming. Nothing like people telling you the truth to your face to make you forget your delusions of grandeur, really.
The worst of it came to me when I discovered my love of mathematics. I was good at it. When you’re good at it, you get respect. It was like the first shot of a powerful drug, something I had never experienced before, not a single time in my entire life up to that point. It was intoxicating and ever since I have the craving for more.
I am very realistic when it comes to myself. I am schizophrenic, not a beauty queen, and my intelligence is slightly below average. At best I’m a mediocre person, at worst I’m rather pathetic. I know this very well, and still the entitlement, the inner rage at disrespect, the craving for approval and admiration, hasn’t subsided. I remind myself of my own mediocrity, constantly, daily, all the time, but it doesn’t help. It only makes me sad and sick and even more delusional than usual.
Bringing myself down is the only way to keep myself from floating up like a balloon ready to be popped. But it hurts, the truth hurts, and it makes me hate myself. It seems as if the more I try to convince my mind of how normal and mediocre I am, the more it hides away in debilitating hallucinations and pathological procrastinating, anything not to face the truth.
I don’t know what to do. I seriously don’t. I’m immobilizing myself, I can’t get anything done, can’t even find the resolve to fight the irrational panic anymore. I ask you for advice, because I’m at a dead end here.