Tag Archives: feeling

A Different Kind Of Narcissist

I didn’t know they could exist. I had seen signs of what I thought might be a mixture of two states of being which are on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. So it was that I began to observe what I call the Narcissistic Empath to see if I could find a pattern in this type of human.

As I have observed over the years, a pattern which emerged for me was something new and undefinable. It wavered between Narcissism and Empathy. Yet, it was not completely either of the two.

Being an Empath (highly sensitive person) my intuition is finely tuned. I can go into the multiple ways in which I “see and feel” human beings. The reason I share this part of me is to give you a glimpse of how I see others.

I am a behavior watcher. I listen to words, and then I sit back and deeply observe the individual’s behavior. This behavioral pattern which was emerging in this type of person felt like something slightly different.

After having an association with a couple of them for a few years, I now see a definition for this type of human, the Narcissistic Empath.

How can this be? I asked myself this question. How can one be both a Narcissist AND an Empath?

According to psychology, narcissists cannot feel at all. Albeit, I am no scientist with a PhD after my name. I am a self-educated person who has spent hours and years studying psychological subjects out of sheer curiosity and need to understand the workings of the human mind. I began this study to understand my own childhood and journey in life.

When the realization sunk into me that this is what I was observing, I set out to specifically find personality types that fit these exact criteria. Three main patterns emerged in my observation.

1. Narcissistic Empaths are very loving and protective with those they care deeply for. They are softer with the way they communicate with those people. They are less apt to be cruel. They are more sensitive to their loved ones’ needs. It is genuine sensitivity. They are patient and aware of their words.

2. They don’t give a damn about people they do not know or have an interest in only sexually and will often make these types their targets. They target strangers. With strangers there is no emotional connection for them.

3. They are palpable. They change. I watched one associate spend a long period of time in a very positive mindset. They were very dedicated to their creative craft. Their interactions were loving and kind. Then an event happened in their life which hurt them deeply. Enter their Narcissistic state of being, in which they are currently sunk. The projector behavior has been the most disparaging to observe. They teeter from positivity to downright meanness, depending on which way their current state of being has leaned.

The Narcissistic Empath seems to be one who teeter totters from one side to the other depending on who they are dealing with and what their personal situation is. It is natural for all humans to have a change in behavior if things in their life get rough.

However, a Narcissistic Empath will take it to the extreme, projecting in vicious and often very convoluted ideals. Yet, what is the difference between a Narcissist and a Narcissistic Empath? The Narcissistic Empath will still be kind to those they love and actually feel it deeply. This is different from the Narcissist who feels nothing and will, without care, abuse those they love. The full on Narcissist fakes their empathy. A Narcissistic Empath fakes nothing. Their Narcissism is real and so is their empathy.

There are many quotes available from “gurus”, urging humans to rid themselves of ego. Yet, the definition of ego is simply a self-identity. So, in fact, it is necessary to have an ego/self-identify. The inflation of the self-identity into an unrealistic self-view is what creates the definition for being egoistic. There should be balance in the human ego. It is the center of who we are. When there is unbalance in our authentic self-identity, it is akin to a rocking boat on a choppy sea.

My questions regarding the Narcissistic Empath kept me on a path of investigative observation.

Could the Empathic side heal the narcissistic side of these humans? If so, what would it take? Was it possible to have both a cold and unfeeling part and a deeply loving part; to switch back and forth between the two? Oh yes. Humans do it every day. Yet it’s not Bipolar or even Borderline Personality Disorder in what I have observed. Still, these people are different, from bipolar and BPD people.

The Empath sees life deeper and in a completely different way, based often out of cosmology minded DNA. The Empath feels things the that non-Empaths are feeling. The Empath absorbs. They see into others; their pains and passions, and I wondered if part of the Narcissistic Empath was also a shutting down to feeling because of the heaviness it can sometimes carry, to be a highly sensitive person. I know of Empaths who do drugs or drink to numb the influx of emotion, using synthetics as a blocker, unable to create their own sense of balance by getting to know themselves deeply.

I believe that the Narcissistic Empath can heal by making deep positive choices toward self-love and having willingness to do concentrated work on themselves.

If they clean their social environment and the self-deprecating thoughts that they use to both degrade themselves and justify the times they lash out, I am of the belief that eventually, with daily routine, the Narcissistic Empath will heal the “dead” part of themselves and be able to become an Embodied Empath, fully in their power and sight, knowing how to balance it and throw away the un-needed junk.

I am observing a few such individuals to continue studying this state of being. I want to see which paths they each decide to take over the next few years. I want to know which part of them will “win” based on which path they choose.

How do you tell the difference? That is a loaded question since Narcissists are adept at faking empathy. However, one thing I’ve noticed about the Narcissist. If one knows what to look for, they’re not that good at faking empathy at all. The sign of their narcissism will always show its face.

With a Narcissistic Empath, there is a turning which happens. The empathy is consistent, present, and genuine. There seems to always be a major event that swings them to the side of shutting down all emotion. They make it through small bumps, but the larger ones make their empathy disappear. Then the Narcissistic phase will remain until they heal the pain. Once the pain is healed, they move back into their genuine Empath selves.

It’s like a mold which needs to be removed and the only one who can remove it is the homeowner.

This is where the work comes in. This is where humans tend to falter, and understandably so. It hurts to heal.

We must face all the torn parts of ourselves that are triggered when we are hurt. Yet, our self-identity can be that of a torn shirt. We grab our needle and thread and stitch the hole. Sometimes we have to re-stitch it, but we stitch it all the same.

So then, we can also stitch the patterns of our pain into beautiful patch works, covering ourselves with the finished blanket of self induced empathy. This, dear ones, is a path to self-healing.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and the hostess of Survivor Voices Show. She is an advocate, poet and artist.

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For the Motherless Child

But who celebrates the
Motherless child?
Who remembers the
Grieving sibling
Whose life was missing
Love and comfort
Or the children
Riddled with the loss
Of she who bore them?

Who loves the
Worn down souls
Unable to open
Computer tops
For fear of seeing
Everyone else’s joy
As they
Sit alone.

We are conditioned with
Holidays to
Get the heart wishing,
Fake gatherings where
Children smile for mom
Quiet about the harm
Not showing the scars
Locked in robotic charm,
The alcohol bottle,
The silence, as not to
Make the cages rattle.

Every day is Mother’s Day,
For the motherless, a
Reminder shoved in their face
With flowers torn from stems,
No fond stories to tell
About childhood memories,
Just thoughts of her hell,

Or wishing she was here
To share in the recall
Of the kids who had it all,
But lost her slowly
Until all that’s left
Is a headstone
And lonely.

And so I lift my eyes
To the motherless child;
Open my arms
Let me hold you a while.
Together, see, I understand.
I know the pain.

We will walk in the trees and
I’ll softly wipe any tears;
Hold you to my chest to
Let you seep out the loneliness.

You don’t have to be happy
If it’s not how you feel.
You have the right
To be vulnerable and real.

To you, motherless child, I
I sent respite. So
Rest a while and
If you find strength to smile
I will return it with twinkling eyes.

V.K

art by Vennie Kocsis with influence from Jill Greenberg’s crying children series.

Some Day I Want to Walk In

Some day I want to walk in
And there you sit
Candles lit
Silence

Some day I want to walk in
To the smell of your cooking;
Turn my head to
Catch you looking
Gazing
Amazing

Some day I want to walk in
Strip to nothing
Spend hours in your sin
Breathing
Being

Who are you?
Where do you hide?
I have searched,
Allowed strangers inside
Broken
Hoping

Some day I want to walk in
And it be you
No longer invisible
Tangible form
Reborn

I don’t want to be
Torn anymore
Tears have me dehydrated
My love heavy
Heady
Hazy

Some day I want to walk in
To peace and know
For the first time
What it’s like
To be both Queen and Daughter
Loved by my King and Father

Some day…

Vennie Kocsis

Streams Of Consciousness | 6.25.15

I am here weightless. Ear tuned to every sound. The fireworks are starting. A week filled with the explosions of war. I despise the celebration of generations who’ve been traumatized by genocide. Headphones. I’m trying to stabilize.

Can I float off away from this place yet? Work to do, but goddamn, I’m tired. Inside. Down in the caves where the seaweed waves in water. She, there, that siren; she is tired inside her liquid soul.

Outside, my body pushes. My face smiles, forced because maybe if I push at it fiercely it turns into the real real. The sounds of fans whirring above me. It’s heated evenings with the shades pulled up to catch the breezes.

Life moves on. Can’t do shit to change that except to feel it all. Face forward. Eyes on the prize, girl, eyes on the prize. Actualize. My destiny has arrived.

Which looks like….

A settled sunset in a camp chair around a beach bonfire,

A triumphant glow in the eyes of a child who has escaped the pain and healed,

A human holding accountability softly in their palms saying, “I fucked this up. I deserve to carry this, not you.”

An acceptance,
A sag of the shoulders and
A rest before the next climb.

They say don’t expect too much from people. It gives way to disappointment. I say that goes along with all the other ways a victim is left to carry the blame. No. The shame belongs solely to the asshole who throws away lives without a care. Don’t blame us.

Here is YOUR Diagnoses:

Apathy, Chronic
Envy, Unresolved
Greed, Chronic Satiation, Level OCD
Selfishness, Harmful Ideation

Everything with you motherfuckers is about money. It temporarily numbs the pain like drugs, and when that plug is pulled, what’s left but the abscess to drain endless,

Your chosen mental madness,
Your fucking sadness,
The voices in your head
Telling you that you ain’t shit;
I know all about it.
I used to be a pro
At telling myself no,
Instead of attending
To my precious soul.

Thinking about it makes my stomach sick. I’d rather live a thousand lives of loneliness than ever give in to anyone again.

I say yes to this right here; the silence; the peace; the ability to freely be me. And fuck the gurus and the controllers, the betrayals and the disloyal. It’s a journey of suffering embraced like a blanket and the shit ain’t mine this time. I get to leave it all behind.

So, I am weightless on this bed. Thinking about communion style wafers of white chocolate and laughter that fled at the sight of action and accountability, because standing on your own two feet ain’t never been a strength when you care more about Vera Wang than your own ability to become better and change.

Lying and manipulation is the crutch of your existence,

And me? I’m just weightless. I’m just feeling, dealing and healing. Because that’s what I do. Live my truth. Even if the self hating critics keep the rest of you in prison, I have escaped to never, ever return to that gate even if it grows flowers;

Unless I have a mallet
To knock down the malice.

Streams Of Consciousness | 6.18.15

Your call tonight left me hollow / my chest is under bricks / breath heavy / I feel you separating / and I touched you for a time / like when I was a child / I admired you / now I lose you / again / you’re going back to them / back to the smothering caverns / so familiar / fear of the unknown / is greater / than the pain you’ve called home / so you choose / the lesser of the two / I am riddled with the loss of you / he will isolate your mind again / make the rest of us out to be villains / years will pass / and there will be the memories / of the few months we / laughed and planned / two girls once more / like before / we have always been / a family torn / can I hold this space / my arms are weary / and I am leery of losing / the strands of this heart / are violin strings / shorn from themselves / my skin sleeps but / the lump in my throat / says weep, girl, weep / this sadness runs so deep / I am a million pieces / each trying to figure it out / the turned down mouth / a smile lost / yet all is flat / no real tears yet / will they come? / maybe it’s time I go back / reclaim the coldness / so I don’t have to hold this / next time it will be worse / the hurt / it will beat you / until your knees shake / and you said you were done / with heartache / I wonder how much more / you’ll take / if you’ll outlive / the emotional rape / but I got a journey / I have to take / and I can’t stay, sweet sister / I can’t stay / holding space I gave / and still I love / still I yearn / as the tides turn / becoming the ash we burned / in the hopes that your loneliness / wouldn’t become excuses / and I must tarry on / with my mission / but first I must try / to cry / so the heaviness / will turn light / replaced by acceptance / but first / I gotta feel this

Stream Of Consciousness 6.5|15

What kept you silent, mother? Was it the denial of the screams echoing down the hallway every time the abusers’ belts landed a blow to me? Did your heart really belong to their ministry? There are secrets that you shared without even speaking. Infectious connections I’m quickly uncovering. You are all earth and upturned stone.

What will remain when the truth is regained; when we find out what is left behind? We were test subjects for the mind.

I’m staring them in their faces, mama. They are victim blaming and apathetic. Were they not this pathetic to you? Where did you ever see truth in such blatant illusion? What depth there must have been to your confusion.

I’m strong. Throwing bricks. The layers are thick, but we’ll get to the heart of this sickness. Control and Ego. It’s all gotta go.

They run rabid like dogs feeding off the hearts of innocent survivors; grab your pocketbook, write a check, this one needs therapy again. It’s a racket from start to finish; one claiming extremist; the other peace. All ritualistic and damaging, both are the same, just presented in different packaging.

We discovered each other, mother. Did you ever expect that? We are here tracing our steps back. What we are finding is spellbinding, a circle of explicit deviance wrapped in a bow of reverence and deliverance.

Yet, none can save the soul but the one who owns it. There is no atonement for their deeds. They hope and wish but the truth is, what awaits them after death… is nothingness. You went back to the gray and so will they, pompous court jesters with wounds that fester deeper than ours.

But they don’t wear their scars as proud. They don’t shout as loud. They drop names and hope for fame; score coin without shame at the expense of the wounded. It is a circus of psychology and ideology. They dont see us following behind, warriors prepared to reveal their crimes.

Meanwhile, we are freely thinking and unleashing an unearthing. We are re-birthing ways brand new, and these unchivalrous tyrants aren’t sure just what to do. Their masks have fallen. Truth is calling, and their exuses have become useless.

And so we dig into the deepest parts of it, because this pit’s not bottomless and we arent the type to quit.

Stream Of Consciousness 6.1|15

Where do I go on nights when my skin aches; when I feel invisible hands gently massaging my heartache. I clutch pillows, squeezing into pieces until it mimics the human form. I am so far from home. Here alone, swept into the solitary existence of the empath; seeing signs in their eyes as they die. Where do I sing when even the wind is lonely. We are elements without the ability to rewind time. I am not sad. I am contemplative. I feel each strand of my DNA. Close my eyes; watch the molecules fall and rise, morphing sunrise into moonlight. I am a droplet in a waterfall, a music note inside the siren’s call. Hold me tight. I’m feeling it all. Where do I go when I need fixing? Which seamstress has mastered my stitching? I am holding mirrors threading needles through my skin, piecing together some of the fragments again. Did you know I rise and fall a thousand times before I can retrieve my mind? Guess who’s here, my dear? Ms. Melancholy Blues. She watches you run every time the feelings coming. Over emotional roller coaster, could you love her the most with matted eyelashes, swollen from fear letting? Where do we go from here? You played the game the wrong way, sucked inside a wormhole, and now you can’t get away. I feel the watching. I hear the echoed talking. I’m observing, hovering, recovering from temporary setbacks. I am raw and splayed, repairing the frays. And who will hold me when the minutes get lonely? The dark shadows and moon tides? Or the memory of a night I didn’t have the strength to say no?