Questioning Me

Do feel free to ask me anything you like. I am here for you to dip into my mind and for you to benefit from learning how I view the world. No question is off limits and if you want to establish a dialogue with me, then so much the better. You will be helping me so I can show the treatment team that I am interacting with people in this setting. You can ask me why I do certain things, what am I thinking, what my favourite food is, whatever you like. This is your chance to extract as much knowledge and information from me as you possibly can. If you want to just make a statement, go ahead. Fill your boots. I don’t know you so I won’t fly into a rage (this does happen when people I know question me but that is because they have an agenda – you don’t because we don’t know one another). I look forward to hearing from you.

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915 thoughts on “Questioning Me”

  1. Kiki,

    you are late on the game, my friend and I mean no offense but if we are to be honest, I would say that maybe 99% of us here have already fantasized or at least thought about how and what would be meeting him in person. It is a natural reaction to someone like him, coming from the place we came from in ourselves.
    It is a connection and it is there. And yes, in many ways he has replaced my narc and I am glad HG did because he has saved me from my own darkness.

    And of course, he has not hurt us; he has helped us. It is like…. we all have narcs in our lives but now we have the Master of all teaching us.

    I need to say something though. This is serious to me. I was reading this thread and someone somewhere mentioned something about his childhood; the fact that he was kept outside in the cold until he could recite something correctly.
    Ok. Those lines hit me like a punch in the stomach. I immediately felt physical pain, like a knife cutting me open from my chest down my stomach and legs. Then shivering. I began shivering in a 94 degree summer heat sitting outside.

    A deep sadness and a loneliness that I cannot possibly convene in words. A sadness that only an innocent child can feel because they are open, innocent, helpless.

    The image in my mind is this little boy dressed in uniform, a brown uniform, shorts, white shirt, hair combed to the side, holding something in his hand, exerting an enormous self-control to not shiver, to not feel it, to dissociate from it. Fear of what would happen if he couldn’t do it. Survival. There is more that I sense but I will stop because I don’t want to sound invasive or throw out assumptions of guesses. I don’t feel or say anymore, out of respect.

    But whoever hurt that little boy in him, is my enemy. As I was once a little girl standing in the cold…

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