The Theory of Narcissism and Bipolar

A lovely ex-girlfriend of mine recently got her degree in Psychology. She’s on the cutting edge. While there might be some therapists and psychiatrists that go deeper with their patients about the mechanisms of Bipolar Disorder, I’ve never spoken to one.

So when my ex-girlfriend told me her theory about the link between Narcissism and Bipolar Disorder, it shook my world.

It goes like this:

Those of us living with Bipolar have cripplingly large egos. We’re extremely selfish. As a result, our egos thrive on pride, success, and validation. These largely external factors - when they come - might be a serious trigger for hypomania/mania.

And if/when these external factors run dry, that void might devastate our self-images, sending us into depression.

This is NOT a New Diagnosis for You

Many of us struggling with Bipolar know the tangled web of diagnoses all too well. Some of us have been misdiagnosed multiple times and even gone through gauntlets of taking the wrong pills.

The truth is that the state of psychiatry and treatment today is pathetic, but that’s not the point of today’s post.

I would be remiss if I didn’t say this: I’m not talking about clinical Narcissistic Personality Disorder here. When I say “narcissism,” I’m talking about extreme egocentrism - the way our attention, self-talk, and focus become entirely consumed by ourselves, whether we feel like gods or pieces of garbage.

What Goes Up…

My Bipolar Bros co-founder Steve and I have always talked about feeling like “Superman” when we’re in hypomania/mania. We sleep and eat less - sometimes not at all - but we do more. We’re outgoing, smart, funny, creative, and productive. We go for what we want and we get it.

We achieve more in short periods of hypomania/mania than we do in long stretches of depression. I literally write thousands of words a day sometimes when I’m in hypomania/mania. That simply does not happen when I’m not.

I make friends, too. Talking to people is so easy when my mood’s up. I know exactly what to do and say and I’m not afraid to do it. This, too, is impossible when I’m depressed.

This ridiculous boost to our creativity, productivity, and confidence almost always leads to success which results in huge amounts of external validation. People love us and they praise what we do. It’s an upward spiral of positivity. We soar like eagles.

But we’re selfish, too. We’re always thinking about how to improve our lives and ourselves. We know how to talk to others, but we’re more concerned with our own self-talk than their lives. We listen when others tell us about their pain and hardship, but we don’t feel it. To us, the world is easy. So we might give them advice. We might tell them life is amazing. Because for us, it is.

For all intents and purposes, we’re narcissists thriving on inflated egos.

… Must Come Down

We can’t go at that pace forever. Nobody can. Eventually, the body needs rest and recovery, which it gets almost none of during hypomania/mania.

We crash.

That crash halts and/or stops our success. And without success, nobody’s telling us how awesome we are. We sleep more and sometimes eat more. We’re tired all of the time. Steve (somehow) manages to maintain his leanness during these times, but I get fat.

We stop working. We look at the projects we started and realize they’re impossible to continue and/or finish. We’re embarrassed by the way we conducted ourselves when we were way up in the sky.

We can’t maintain the new friendships and relationships we ignited during hypomania/mania. We don’t want to meet anyone. We can barely respond to texts.

We fall into depression.

And again, we’re selfish as fuck.

When others tell us of their success and happiness, we might congratulate them and feel a sliver of happiness for them, but it doesn’t really rub off. We’re consumed with our own negativity.

For all intents and purposes, we’re narcissists.

This is a Theory - a Perspective - Not a Law

My ex’s theory is extremely compelling. While I’m hesitant to fully subscribe, the concept fits my experience quite well. Can I say that I (fully) lack empathy? I don’t think so. But like most concepts in psychology, I don’t think this is black and white. I think it’s merely a new lens and perspective to look at Bipolar through.

The Problem: Warped Realities

What do new perspectives really give us? In my opinion, the real gems here are insight and awareness, which are the antidotes to many of our struggles.

Bipolar Disorder distorts our reality.

We’re not psychotic. We see the world fundamentally the same. But we view ourselves and our potentials through “rose-colored glasses,” for lack of a better term. Again, we think we’re “Superman.” We think we’ve finally found the answers to all of our problems and we think we’ll be able to implement our solutions and finally have the lives we’ve always dreamed of.

But it’s not true. The nature of Bipolar Disorder, of course, is moods that fluctuate - sometimes quite dramatically.

And when we fluctuate from high to low, our realities are warped the other way.

Again, we’re not psychotic. We see the world as it is, but we see it through “shit-covered glasses.” We think we see the truth of it all: we’re nothing and the world is hell. Every single positive thought, emotion, and idea of our time during hypomania/mania was a lie.

But both of those “truths” - that we’re superman and that we’re pieces of shit - are not truths. The self-images we created, both inflated and deflated, are wildly inaccurate. And our selfishness - our narcissism - makes our warped egos the center of our universes. That’s the real problem.

Increased Awareness Might be the Key

As far as I know, there’s no cure for Bipolar. And one of the central messages of Bipolar Bros is that we do not have the answer. So when I prescribe “awareness,” I’m not promising you the solution to all of your problems.

However, I think awareness might be a huge help.

If we practice awareness, we may be able to lessen the distortion of our realities during both hypomania/mania and depression. If we remind ourselves that we’re not Superman and we’re not pieces of shit, we might be able to stay more grounded. Rather than shooting into the stratosphere and plunging into the depths of hell, we might be able to slow down our ascents and descents - at least a little. And a little goes a long way.

This, Too, Shall Pass

I don’t remember where this saying comes from and I’m not gonna look it up right now. But it’s something Steve and I have repeated to ourselves and each other over the years. We’re so, so lucky to have each other. While we’ve actually accelerated each other’s hypomania/mania and depression when our moods lined up, we’ve also been able to remind each other that we’re Bipolar.

We see one another’s symptoms and sometimes acknowledge them out loud. When Steve tells me about the new project he’s working on relentlessly, I’ll ask him, “You’re not sleeping, are you?” When he inevitably tells me that he’s not, I tell him he might want to try.

We’re incredibly fortunate to be able to look at each other and see the mirror.

But awareness on its own is key, too.

On my own, even without Steve, I’ve learned to see my moods for what they are. I’m constantly checking myself. How’s my appetite, my energy, my libido? What do these variables indicate? And when I find that I’m shooting up or plunging down, I try to remind myself: “This, Too, Shall Pass.”

With that awareness, I can try and focus on myself less. I can try and be less selfish. I can try and care about others more.

I can be less narcissistic. And you can, too.

I’m Crashing RIGHT NOW

I wrote this whole damn thing in just a couple hours or less. That tells me that I’m at least a smidge manic. I’m also realizing that I’m running out of steam. The adderall and four coffees are wearing off.

I’d love to write more about Awareness and how to cultivate it, but that’s gonna have to wait for another post.

For now, I’m gonna check myself. I’m telling myself right now to be aware. I’m gonna stop writing and I’m gonna try and go out into the world and see it through a more balanced lens.

I’m going to stop focusing on myself and see others.

The Origin of the Bros

I met Steve in the fall of 2004 when I joined Coventry High School’s Cross-Country team. He was rude, obnoxious, mischievous - and vibrant. We got along immediately. I had no way of knowing - of course - that girl talk and dick jokes would change the entire course of my life.

If you’re not familiar with Cross-Country (XC, for short), it’s this very stupid “sport” in which you train by running a lot and then you compete by running a lot. But let’s back up for a moment.

How and Why I Started Running

In truth, I had no passion for running. I had dealt with weight problems and body dysmorphia ever since I could remember and after watching Rocky IV, I decided to start running over the summer break in between Freshman and Sophomore year. Along with a borderline anorexic diet and the magic of puberty, running daily helped me thin out dramatically.

The rewards of running outweighed its pain and monotony, so I kept at it. Then, it paid off during gym class. For some sadistic reason, gym teachers like to do “physical fitness” tests once a year where everyone is forced to do the things cadets are forced to do in the police academy: Pushups, Situps, Pullups, and the 1 mile run. As a fat kid my entire life, I dreaded them. After months of training for an event that I never even considered, however, I cherished the opportunity to run some laps.

I sucked at everything else, but I put up a decent enough time in the mile - decent enough that a senior whom I looked up to told me I should try running as a sport. It was a ridiculous idea but he was cool, smart, and super handsome, so I basically wanted to be him. I decided to take his suggestion on the path to being less like me and more like him. And so I joined the school’s track at the next available opportunity - the Indoor Track season.

Track SUCKED

Indoor track began when Winter began, so we ran in the bitter, freezing, cold. Track SUCKED. Running in the cold sucked. Running in the gym when it was too cold to run outside sucked. The coach sucked. The coach was too serious, too mean, and nobody had fun. I was ready to hang up my track spikes for good when that same handsome senior implored me to try XC. I still idolized him to some degree, so once again, I took his word for it.

Cross-Country Did Not Suck

The cool senior was right. When the XC season began, I found that the bitter cold of running in winter was replaced by the calm breezes and pleasant temperatures of fall. The intense speedwork was replaced by longer, slower miles. The douchebag coach was replaced by Mr. Warner, a guy I’ll always remember as wise, kind, fatherly, and tolerant.

And believe you me, Mr. Warner was tolerant. Whereas we ran in a state of quiet discontent during Track, we were having a blast every single day when we showed up to XC. It sounds impossible, but I looked forward to finishing school, throwing on the absolutely putrid shorts and shirt that I never washed, and heading out to run eight miles with the guys. Because they were becoming my guys. Fast.

Bonding with the My Fellow Runners

When I ran Track, I ran the 1500m. Despite running the second longest race, our workouts were rarely slow. There was no time to have fun or connect with my teammates. As Mr. Warner said, however, training for Cross-Country races necessitated “long, slow miles” at a “conversational” pace. For the first time in my life, I was running in a group of guys that actually talked with one another. And for the first time in my life, I was experiencing that special sort of bond that can only be fostered through endurance and struggle.

Yes, Cross-Country training was less intense - but don’t get me wrong, training seriously for races inevitably brings a certain type of pain that non-runners will never know. That pain, when shared, yields respect. And while most of our time was spent making extremely immature jokes and bullying each other, the respect cemented lifelong friendships.

Enter Steve

And finally, we reach Steve. I have kept in touch and even stayed good friends with several of the guys from Cross-Country back in 2004, but Steve and I built something that will last a lifetime - of that, I have no doubt.

Steve was my polar (pun unintended, I swear) opposite. While I had developed my own streak of irreverence in the latter years of high school, I was - by all accounts - a “good” kid. I achieved near-perfect grades, I was polite to my teachers. All throughout my adolescence, I behaved well. Steve… did not. In fact, he was one of the least well-behaved kids I knew.

I can’t remember a single day during which Steve wasn’t involved in some sort of shenanigans, tomfoolery, or general rapscallionism. To every single adult who worked at Coventry High School, he was a terror. But that’s probably why I was so drawn to him.

Steve’s Radical Authenticity

More than anything else, Steve was himself. He was - and still is - the most authentic person in any setting. He made trouble because he wanted to make trouble. I had always wanted to make trouble, but I was too afraid of consequences. Unlike me, Steve had discovered one of life’s hidden secrets: pranks and mischief, when done with a pure heart, are charming and refreshing. While he was always in some sort of trouble, everyone loved him. His antics were never mean-spirited. It was all in the name of fun.

Something Deeper

Steve’s antics were what drew me to him, but it was something else that led to us developing the deepest type of friendship there is. In Steve, I saw something strange. Something different. Something I didn’t yet have the words for. And while Steve and I were polar opposites, when I saw Steve, I saw myself.

During those long, slow miles, the team ran together most of the time. Steve was fast and I was slow, but he must have seen the same thing in me as I saw in him, because he started turning it down a notch to match my pace and spend more time talking with me one-on-one. Mr Warner didn’t like that, but Mr. Warner wasn’t fast enough to catch up.

Learning to Open Up with Steve’s Help

Steve’s openness inspired me to open up, too. We talked about school, our parents, video games, girls, and who knows what else. Really, that short list is woefully inadequate. We talked about everything. I have a vivid memory of the first time Steve and I realized we were the same person; it was when we broached the subject of body dysmorphia - another thing we felt and could describe but didn’t have the knowledge to name with two medical words.

That Fateful Day

The day’s run had just started. We rounded the corner of ClubHouse Road and entered Wood Estates. Steve’s energy was calmer than usual, almost somber. I asked him what was up. He said, “I feel fat.” Already winded, I barely managed, “What?” Steve was six feet tall and maybe 140lbs. You could not possibly find a single person in the world who would describe Steve as “fat.”

But I felt the same. The exact same. My earliest memories were paired with shame and guilt for being “fat.” I spent my entire childhood self-conscious because I was fat. Then, when I lost weight and started running, I wasn’t fat anymore - but I still felt fat. It was a private feeling. But Steve knew it. Steve lived it. And Steve was brave enough to speak it.

Shared Pain

When Steve’s words and feelings sunk in and I replied, “Me too,” I saw him change. We slowed down without saying a word. The second pack of runners passed us. Then the third. Then Mr. Warner was right behind, scolding us. So we picked it up. We found a nice quiet spot between the second fastest group and the third fastest group. That nice, quiet pocket allowed us more space to talk. And with a reasonable pace, I could actually contribute to the conversation. So we talked it out.

The Bros’ First Safe Space

We talked about the mirror. The fucking mirror. God, I hated the mirror. And Steve did too! I can’t adequately describe the feeling I had when Steve described my own inner monologues, so I won’t try. But I can tell you in one sentence what Steve did for me. He did something that I’d only previously found in my favorite books: Steve made me feel less alone.

In each other, we found ourselves. From that day forward, we continued joking around and making each other laugh. But all of those jokes acted as the foundation for something deeper. In the midst of all of our fun, we built a safe space for each other. We allowed each other to say everything we never dared say to anyone else.

That’s what made Steve and I bros.