I could have been diagnosed with NPD or BPD based on behavior alone as a teen. I gossiped. I saw people as tools for my own gain, not as individuals. I started smear campaigns whenever someone made me angry, and I felt completely justified in doing so. I always needed an audience for my pain. I triangulated people when I was mad at someone. I was incredibly sensitive, always assuming people were being cruel to me. I never dealt with conflict directly—if someone upset me, I’d just disappear. I’d cycle between idolizing people and then suddenly deciding they were evil if they hurt me. If I couldn’t escape an argument, I’d blow up.
I burned through relationships fast—my boyfriends rarely lasted more than three months. I had stress-related paranoid thoughts, something that’s haunted me most of my life (though it’s much better now). I also experienced intense episodes of RSD—rejection sensitive dysphoria—if plans changed, someone canceled on me, or if I was left out.
As it turns out, I just had a mother with NPD (which I found out in 2013), and I have ASD and ADHD (diagnosed in 2015). And with ADHD comes RSD, which is marked by intense feelings of either rage or depression. So based on outward behavior alone, yes—I looked a lot like a narcissist or someone with a mood disorder. But internally? I never lacked empathy. I actually have hyper-empathy. I feel remorse deeply. I can put myself in someone else’s shoes so well that I can literally feel what they feel. It’s a blessing—and sometimes a curse.
I rarely had suicidal ideation. The only time I felt truly empty was during episodes of RSD. And I never engaged in narcissistic behaviors unless I was angry and hurt—what I saw as “revenge,” something modeled for me by my mother. But I never enjoyed hurting people. I always felt remorse afterward.
The thing is, all my friends acted this way too. We were this little chaos circle of teenagers feeding off each other’s dysfunction because we were all raised in it. Every single one of us had at least one parent with NPD. One friend’s mom had both NPD and BPD. And some of those friends did become narcissists, just like their parents—which didn’t help. Because when you grow up with someone who has NPD or BPD, you become addicted to the rollercoaster—the highs and lows, the emotional drama. It becomes your normal.
We didn’t seek out boring people. We sought out chaos. We needed it. We craved it. And we made friends who could deliver it. Why? Because that’s what we grew up with. So we convinced ourselves it was normal. “Everyone acts this way. The calm people are just judgmental—and boring.”
But in reality, they were the healthy ones. We just couldn’t see it yet.
I’ll tell you something: chaos is fun. It’s exhilarating. And when your brain is wired for exhilaration from birth, that’s what you’ll seek out. It becomes an addiction—formed even in the womb. Think about it: a pregnant mother constantly flooded with cortisol and adrenaline in an abusive relationship? Those chemicals reach the baby. Then that baby is born into more chaos. That’s how the brain gets primed. And if it’s all you know, how could you ever learn to choose peace?
True narcissists—real ones—don’t feel bad for the damage they cause. They might apologize, but only to manipulate you or regain control. They don’t actually try to change. Or if they pretend to, it doesn’t last. They gaslight you for expecting them to change at all. And yes, change is hard, even for people without mood issues—but wanting to change, and actually trying? That’s a clear sign you’re not disordered, just hurt and in need of healing.
So if you’re genuinely trying to do better, and you feel real remorse when you slip up? You’re probably not dealing with a personality disorder. You’ve just learned some bad coping mechanisms.
Think of it this way: if someone tells you every day that you’re ugly—even if you’re beautiful—you’ll eventually believe you’re ugly. It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your brain was trained to think that way. You weren’t born believing you were ugly. You were taught it. And later, you might even gravitate toward people who reinforce that belief, because it feels familiar. Safe, in a twisted way. You might even reject those who treat you with kindness, because deep down, you don’t trust it. You don’t believe them.
Now apply that to behavior: if you grow up around someone who gossips relentlessly, treats people like objects, freaks out when someone leaves them, enacts revenge when they feel hurt, love bombs and discards? You’re going to grow up thinking that’s normal. You’ll act that way too. Because it’s what you were taught.
As a child, I watched how my mother treated my father—and I learned to treat him the same way. I blamed him for everything. I learned how to treat my friends, how to see the world, how to twist truth into control—all from a narcissist. In the ACoNs world (adult children of narcissists), we call those lingering behaviors “fleas.” Little bugs that jump from our parents onto us. I would still have so many of mine if I hadn’t realized my mother had NPD and educated myself about it.
One of the best things I ever did was go into hibernation. That means taking intentional solitude to break the addiction to chaos—pulling away from dating, friendships, and the drama of it all. When I did that, I went from being a total extrovert to someone who now enjoys solitude. With that distance, I could finally see the toxic patterns in myself and the people around me. I realized I didn’t enjoy the chaos anymore. Not even a little.
It took time to heal from my fleas. And I’m still working on some. But I’m so much better today. I don’t have many friends now—by choice. I used to have too many. But I learned that what I truly wanted—honesty, authenticity, real connection—wasn’t something many people were willing to give. Once I disconnected from chaos, I stopped craving it. And I stopped participating in it.
Do I fall back into old habits sometimes? Sure. But far less often, and when I do, I return to center quicker every time.
When you hibernate, you can ask yourself:
“What do I really want from relationships?”
Then make a plan to get those things.
Then ask: “What can I give to others?”
And make a plan to be that safe person, too.
Because sometimes, when no one teaches us how to be a safe person, we don’t know how to create safe relationships. We mimic the behaviors of our parents. And from the outside, we look like we have a personality disorder. But we’re just acting out learned behavior. We’re surviving.
So write it down:
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What you want in a safe relationship.
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What you can offer as a safe person.
That’s where healing begins.
Because not everyone who acts in toxic ways has a personality disorder. Sometimes they’re autistic. Sometimes they have fleas. Sometimes they’re just deeply wounded. And sometimes, all three.
But if they have empathy… if they feel remorse… if they genuinely want to change and are working toward it? Chances are, they can heal.
That said—I’m not a therapist. I can’t diagnose anyone. But I can tell you this: even if someone doesn’t have a personality disorder, they can still be toxic. I know I was. Back then, being friends with me was a “enter at your own risk” kind of deal. I wasn’t a safe person. And if someone didn’t like me then, they had every reason not to.
I’m not that person anymore—but the damage I caused was real. I’m still making amends for some of it.
But I changed.
And maybe the people in your life can change, too. But don't wait around to find out if they are continuously hurting you--give them the space to change without you if you need to. You have to always protect yourself and your family first. There is never a reason to stick around if someone has toxic behavior.
Because some people who’ve learned harmful behaviors are capable of change—some aren’t. But whether that person is you or someone you know, remember that how you choose to live in this world is up to you. If you want to live with true authenticity, you must make choices that align with your soul. If something doesn’t feel right, do your best to choose differently. It’s not always easy, but every step you take toward truth and alignment brings you closer to the life you were meant to live.
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