Confessions of a recovering narcissist. There was a time when I wasn't the mirror I didn't like. I was so mirror addicted that I conscripted any object that magically beamed by reflection back at me. Any day, any time of day or night, shop store windows became something of an obsession. There was one street in town, a large department store that took up an entire city block. It became one of my favorite streets on days when work took me into the inner city. I would slow down as I approached this particular city block, surreptitiously preying myself and positioning myself as close as possible to the large picture frame windows. One, two, three, four, five large window mirrors to strike various poses. I carried a thumb worn copy of Narcissus Myth and Reality in my back pocket, and a comb in every jacket pocket. My inner circle of friends called me Phineas the poser, and I'd taken more selfies than I probably had had that hot dinners. I was the mirror any mirror, and the mirror was me. Then one night something untoward happened. I awoke from a very, very strange, surreal dream, in which I found myself trapped in a room with mirrors, mirrors every which way, on a ceiling, in the walls, even the floor. It was all the small world like being inside Kusama's infinity mirrored room at the Broad. Slowly but imperceptibly the room began to close in until one whole wall mirror cracked, followed by another and another. The room was progressively jagged and fractured. My images were mirrored to fracturedness. That's when I woke up in a cold sweat. Next morning I called and sick. For the first time as long as I could remember, I couldn't stand to look in a mirror, and there were many in my apartment. I picked up my cell phone and called my therapist. Luckily for me, her secretary informed me she had a cancellation on that late morning and could fit me in. The appointment couldn't come soon enough. Finally, I took all the mirrors down in my apartment and stacked them in a hall closet. During the appointment, I nervously described my predicament in great detail. As I was talking, I kept seeing parts of the dream from the previous evening. The therapist listened intently, taking detailed notes. After I finished, she asked me some questions that I stumbled and mumbled through. Then she placed her notepad on a table, moved in closely and said quietly, but firmly You have a chronic case of situational narcissism. But she added quickly, I think we can be of help. I said nothing, looking blank. You must do exactly as I say, she added. But what about almost total withdrawal? You're allowed to retain one mirror, only one, she added for emphasis. Have you any idea I can almost total withdrawal? she repeated. Nothing less. Finally she wore me down and I agreed. She broke it down into tasks for me. The first task was to throw away all of the house mirrors bar one that I had stacked in a hall closet. The second task was to disable the camera on my cell phone. That required a trip to the local phone center to achieve it. After disabling the camera, the sales assistant handed me a free selfie stick, just in case you're ever tempted to stare at the stick. The third task was to buy a pair of extra sark dark sunglasses that I was to wear aside at all times. The fourth task was to reprogram all of my city routes to work so that if I could I would avoid large department store picture windows. The fifth task was to hold a ceremonial burning of the narcissist book I carried around with me at all times. That was extremely difficult. Part of me felt as if I was forsaking myself. Well, it's been almost a month now since that epiphenal therapy session, and I'm making progress, at least I think I'm making progress. I check in with a therapist twice a week. Funny thing is, I no longer can find that self that I was so in love with. Maybe it never existed after all.
