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Haunted: AI Inside My Mind

Uploaded 5/27/2024, approx. 10 minute read

A while ago, I recorded a talk with Dr. Martin Buchhardt.

Martin then submitted the talk to an artificial intelligence program.

The haunting outcome was a series of images depicting and visualizing my mind, one artificial intelligence relating to another.

I'm going to share with you these images coupled with entries from my diary, the journal of a narcissist.


The exact moment I found a description of narcissistic personality disorder is etched in my mind.

I felt engulfed in warm amber, encapsulated and frozen.

It was suddenly very quiet and very still.

I met myself.

I have seen the enemy and it was I.

The article was long winded and full of references to scholars I never heard of before.

Kernberg, Kohut, Klein.

It was a foreign language that resounded like a forgotten childhood memory.

It was I to the last repellent details described in uncanny accuracy.

Grandiose fantasies of brilliance and perfection, a sense of entitlement without commensurate achievements, rage, the exploitation of others, lack of empathy.

I always think of myself as a machine.

I say to myself things like, you have an amazing brain or you're not functioning today. Your efficiency is so low.

I measure things.

I constantly compare performance.

I'm actually aware of time and how it is utilized.

There is a meter in my head.

It ticks and tocks, a metronome of self-reproach and grandiose assertions.

I talk to myself in third person singular.

It lends objectivity to what I think as though it were coming from an external source, from someone else.

That low is my self-esteem that in order to be trusted, I have to disguise myself, to hide myself from myself.

It is a pernicious and all pervasive art of unbeing.

I like to think of myself in terms of automata.

There is something so aesthetically compelling in their precision, in their impartiality, in their harmonious embodiment of the abstract.

Machines are so powerful.

Machines are so emotionless, not prone to be hurting weaklings like me.

Machines don't bleed.

Often I find myself agonizing over the destruction of a laptop in a movie as its owner is blown to smithereens as well.

Machines are my folk and kin.

They're my family.

They allow me the tranquil luxury of unbeing.


I want to tell you now what happens to narcissists when they're deprived of narcissistic supply of any kind, secondary or primary.

Perhaps it will make it easier for you to understand why the narcissist pursues narcissistic supply so fervently, so relentlessly and so ruthlessly.

Without narcissistic supply, the narcissist crumbles.

He disintegrates like the zombies or the vampires in horror movies.

It is terrifying and the narcissist will do anything to avoid it.

Think about the narcissist as a drug addict.

His withdrawal symptoms are identical.

Delusions, physiological effects, irritability, emotional ability.

I'm not envious of people who feel.

I disdain feelings and emotional people because I think that they are weak and vulnerable and I deride human weakness and vulnerabilities.

Such derision makes me feel superior and is probably the ossified remains of a defense mechanism gone berserk.

But there it is.

This is I and there is nothing I can do about it.

If I had to distill my quotidian existence in two pithy sentences, I would say, "I love to be hated and I hate to be loved. Hate is the complement of fear and I like being feared."

To be feared imbues me with an intoxicating sensation of omnipotence, invariably inebriated by the looks of horror or repulsion on people's faces.

They know that I'm capable of anything.

Not like I'm ruthless and devoid of scruples, capricious and unfathomable, emotionless and asexual, omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent, a plague, a devastation, an inescapable verdict.

I nurture my ill repute, stoking it and fanning the flames of gossip.

It is an enduring asset, this self-inflicted smear campaign.

When I hate routine, when I find myself doing the same things over and over again, I get depressed.

I oversleep, overeat, overdrink and in general engage in addictive, impulsive and compulsive behaviors.

This is my way of reintroducing risk and excitement into what I emotionally perceive to be a barren life.

The problem is that even the most exciting and varied existence becomes routine after a while.

Living in the same country or the same apartment, meeting the same people, doing essentially the same things though with changing content, all qualify as stultifying rot.

I feel entitled to more.

I feel that it is my right, due to my intellectual superiority, to lead a thrilling, rewarding, kaleidoscopic life.

I feel entitled to force life itself or at least people around me to yield to my wishes and needs, supreme among them the need for a stimulating variety.

I have touched the hearts of people. I have made people cry and rage and smile, but I have laid this part of my writing to rest because it does injustice to my grandiose perception of myself.

Anyone can write a short story. Anyone in his dotage can write a poem.

Only the few, the unique, the erudite, the brilliant, can comment on the measurement problem, analyze church-turing machines and use words such as "tribilius, sesquipedalian and apothegm".

I count myself among those few.

By doing so, I betray my inner sanctum, my real potential, my gift.

The gap between what I wanted to become and what has made me bitter and cantankerous, a repulsive, alien oddity, avoided by all but the most persistent friends and acolytes.

I resent being doomed to the quotidian. I rebel against being given to aspirations which have so little in common with my abilities.

It is not that I recognize my limitations.

I don't.

I still wish to believe.

Had I only applied myself, had I only persevered, had I only found the interest, I would have been nothing less of a Mozart or a Einstein or a Freud.

It is a lie, of course, that I tell myself in times of quiet despair when I realize that my age and then compare it to the utter lack of my accomplishments.

I write poetry not because I need to.

I write poetry to gain attention, to secure adulation, to fasten on to the reflection in the eyes of others that passes from my ego.

My words are fireworks, formulas of resonance, the periodic table of healing and abuse.

These are dark poems, a wasted landscape of pain ossified, of scarred remnants of emotions.

There is no horror in abuse. The terror is in the endurance, in the dreamlike detachment from one's own existence that follows.

People around me feel my surrealism. They back away alienated, discomfited by the limpid placenta of my virtual reality.

I've never been a child. I've been a wunderkind.

The answer to my mother's prayers and intellectual frustration. A human computing machine, a walking, talking encyclopedia, a curiosity, a circus freak.

I've been observed by developmental psychologists. I've been interviewed by the media, endured the envy of my peers and their pushy mothers.

I constantly clashed with figures of authority because I felt entitled to special treatment, immune to prosecution and superior.

It was a narcissist's dream. Abundant narcissistic supply, rivers of awe, the aura of glamour, incessant attention, open adulation, countrywide fame.

So I refused to grow up.

In my mind, my tender age was an integral part of the precocious miracle that I've become.

One looks much less phenomenal and one's exploits and achievements are much less awe-inspiring at the age of 60, I thought.

Better stay young forever than thus secure my narcissistic supply.

Plus, my life is my parents' punishment.

Childless and a sad failure, I keep hopingand counterfactually that they care enough to be hurting.

So I wouldn't grow up. I never took out a driver's license. I don't have children. I rarely have sex. I never settle down in one place. I reject intimacy.

In short, I refrain from adulthood and adult chores. I have no adult skills. I assume no adult responsibilities. I expect indulgence from others, impetulet and haughtily spoiled. I'm capricious, infantile and emotionally labile and immature.

In short, I'm a 63-years-old brat.

In women, I induce confusion. They're attracted and then repelled, revolted by some essence that they cannot explain, no name.

They say, "He's so unpleasant." They repeat this hesitantly. "He's so violent and so disagreeable."

My own girlfriends, paramours and wives, struggled with the fitted, repellent emanation. They called me sick and creepy or damaged goods. They meant to say that I'm not a healthy person altogether, not all there.

They invariably ended up with other men, cheating, swinging, desperately trying to recoup their molested self-esteem, feeling rejected and dejected. The animals we are.

Unsense my infirmity. I read somewhere that female birds avoid the sickly males in mating season.

I am one sickly bird and they skirt me with the hurt perplexity of the frustrated.

In this modern world of what you see is what you get, the narcissist is an exception. Just advertising, a diversion, an android of virtual reality with bug-infested programming.

If you enjoyed this article, you might like the following:

Faces of Narcissist's Aggression

Narcissists possess a grandiose sense of self-importance and believe in their unique mission, often viewing their lives as significant narratives meant for future documentation. They expect others to recognize their entitlement and comply with their needs, leading to frustration and aggression when the world does not accommodate them. This aggression can manifest in various forms, including passive-aggressive comments disguised as helpful advice, which serve to inflict emotional harm. Ultimately, narcissists harbor deep-seated hostility and resentment, making their interactions potentially harmful to those around them.


Narcissist: Stable Life or Roller Coaster?

Narcissists are heavily reliant on fluctuating narcissistic supply, which leads to a volatile sense of self and mood. They often create a false self to derive their ego functions from others' reactions, resulting in instability across various aspects of their lives, with some maintaining a compensatory stability in one area while others introduce chaos into all dimensions. Emotional involvement is avoided to prevent intimacy, leading to a cycle of approach and avoidance in relationships and tasks. Ultimately, this behavior stems from a deep-seated pathological narcissism that drives their need for attention and validation.


Narcissist's Constant Midlife Crisis

Narcissists experience a perpetual state akin to a midlife crisis due to their constant disconnection from reality and their grandiose aspirations. Unlike healthy adults who confront the gap between their dreams and reality, narcissists thrive on unpredictability and excitement, often engaging in cycles of idealization and devaluation. Their coping mechanisms, such as cognitive dissonance and abrupt changes in behavior, allow them to navigate their ongoing crises without the same level of disillusionment faced by others. Ultimately, the narcissist's refusal to accept reality and their relentless pursuit of fantasy prevent them from undergoing a traditional midlife crisis.


Narcissist as Spoiled Brat

Narcissists require attention and narcissistic supply, and when they cannot obtain it, they may experience decompensation, which can lead to acting out in various ways. Narcissists may resort to several adaptive solutions, including delusional narratives, antisocial behavior, passive-aggressive behavior, paranoid narratives, and masochistic avoidance. These behaviors are all self-generated sources of narcissistic supply. Masochistic narcissists may direct their fury inwards, punishing themselves for their failure to elicit supply, and this behavior has the added benefit of forcing those closest to them to pay attention to them.


Negative, Fake, Low-grade Narcissistic Supply

Normal individuals seek a balanced amount of attention, while narcissists are insatiable, constantly craving affirmation to sustain their self-worth. They create a false self, projecting an idealized version of themselves to elicit reactions from others, which they refer to as narcissistic supply. Even negative attention can serve as supply for narcissists, as they prioritize any form of attention over being ignored, manipulating others to maintain their focus. Ultimately, the narcissist's existence revolves around this relentless pursuit of attention, which is intertwined with their internal struggles and feelings of worthlessness.


No Narcissistic Supply Self Supply Or Forced Supply

Narcissists rely on a flow of narcissistic supply to maintain their self-image and emotional stability, often seeking intimate partners to help regulate this supply. When they face a depletion of supply due to disillusionment or external circumstances, they may resort to various coping mechanisms, including delusional narratives, antisocial behavior, or paranoid ideation. These strategies can lead to a complete withdrawal from reality or aggressive outbursts, as the narcissist struggles to reconcile their grandiose self-perception with the absence of validation. Ultimately, the lack of supply can push narcissists toward self-destructive behaviors or personality disorders, blurring the lines between different psychological conditions.


How Narcissist Experiences His Collapse (Grandiosity Bubbles and Delusional Solutions)

When a narcissist is unable to obtain narcissistic supply, they experience a phenomenon known as narcissistic collapse, leading to various internal dynamics and emotional responses. This collapse can result in a range of maladaptive solutions, including delusional narratives, antisocial behavior, and paranoid ideation, as the narcissist attempts to cope with their perceived failures and maintain a sense of self-worth. The absence of supply can trigger severe emotional dysregulation, withdrawal from reality, and even psychotic episodes, as the narcissist struggles to reconcile their grandiose self-image with the harshness of reality. Ultimately, the narcissist's reliance on external validation creates a precarious existence, where the loss of supply leads to profound feelings of emptiness and self-destruction.


Narcissist Re-idealizes Discarded Sources of Narcissistic Supply

Narcissists maintain discarded sources of supply in a mental reserve and may seek them out when other options are unavailable, attempting to recycle these sources for validation. To reconnect with a devalued source, they must re-idealize it without admitting past mistakes, creating a narrative that reconciles their previous devaluation with the new idealized view. Old sources of supply should remain indifferent to the narcissist's attempts to reconnect, as this indifference is intolerable to them and deprives them of the attention they crave. Ultimately, narcissists view everyone as potential sources of supply, even enemies, as any emotional response, positive or negative, serves to validate their existence.


Narcissist Has No Friends

Narcissists treat their friends like Watson and Hastings, who are obsequious and unthreatening, and provide them with an adulating gallery. Narcissists cannot empathize or love, and therefore have no real friends. They are interested in securing narcissistic supply from narcissistic supply sources. The narcissist overvalues people when they are judged to be potential sources of supply, and devalues them when no longer able to supply him, ultimately leading to the alienation and distancing of people.


Narcissist: I Love to be Hated and I Hate to be Loved

The speaker revels in being feared and hated, finding power and satisfaction in the horror they evoke in others. They thrive on their notoriety and the attention it brings, using truth as a weapon to inflict pain while simultaneously seeking punishment as a form of validation. The narcissist experiences a profound internal conflict, feeling both superior and worthless, leading to a constant struggle against perceived mediocrity and a deep-seated need for narcissistic supply. This internal turmoil manifests as a grandiosity gap, where the narcissist grapples with feelings of fraudulence and worthlessness, ultimately seeking doom as a means of silencing their self-loathing.

Transcripts Copyright © Sam Vaknin 2010-2024, under license to William DeGraaf
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