Try Walking In My Shoes

I always wake before you. This allows me to slip into the en suite and lock the door and deal with the horror of confronting another day without you seeing me endure this daily ritual.  Already I can feel the hunger rising as I stare at my reflection. Is this what I have become? The bleary-eyed, stubbled, exhausted creature that gazes unwaveringly back at me. No, I do not recognise that thing. How old it looks. The lips are thin, the hair thinning and clumped. Its shoulders rounded and slumped in resignation. I feel refreshed from a solid night’s sleep yet whatever is looking back at me does not accord with that feeling. The fear crawls across my skin and I rub at myself trying to dislodge that cold grip but it never works. The inner dread rises as I contemplate another day at the grindstone trying to piece together what I am, that long arduous task which never gets easier. In point of fact, the task becomes more difficult with each passing month as my advancing age screams at me about my mortality. How that banshee tortures me as she howls in my ears about my waning powers. I feel the tears welling as every injustice I have ever suffered is heaped on my shoulders by an uncaring and oblivious world. Does it not see my pain or does it just not care?
My mobile phone is clutched in my hand. I rarely let it leave my side and I place it on the counter besides the sink and then grip the counter as I continue to look at my reflection. My knuckles whiten as I fight the urge to scream at how empty I feel, how bereft I am and how this is so damn unfair. I try to wrench my gaze away but I cannot. I am entranced by what I see. I do not recognise this person. Where has that shock of white come from in the hair above the left temple? That is not me. Its skin looks dry as if it has been subjected to the dehydrating suction of some foul shade that visited in the night. The horror continues to escalate and it is only the chime of my ‘phone which breaks this terrible appreciation of the thing in the mirror.

Grateful for this interruption I shift my eyes to the ‘phone and see that a message has arrived from one of my coterie of admirers, Samantha. The pilot light inside of me flares into life and there is the slightest surge as the fuel begins to flow. I should wait until I have showered but the hunger is too great already and it must be addressed. I open the text message and like a starving man being given his first meal after fasting I devour the words of admiration.

“Good morning handsome, I missed you last night, I will call you when you are at work xxx”

The flame increases in size and strength as I close the message and smile .I turn on the shower letting the stream of water heat up as I flick to the texts that Samantha sent last night whilst I sat on the settee preoccupied with my activity of flitting between her texts and a conversation I was engaging in with a new prospect on facebook. I re-read a handful of the texts from Samantha with their declarations of admiration for me and I feel my strength returning. I put the phone down and step into the shower and relish the hot embrace of the jets of water. The fear has shrunk away and the dread sensation has been pushed back down. I liberally apply the shower gel, enjoying the sophisticated scent as I use a different product on my face, scrubbing away the dead cells and then another to cleanse and wash. I turn the taps and the water stops. I reach for a thick towel and pat my face dry feeling rejuvenated. As I stood beneath the purifying water my keen mind raced whilst I formed my machinations for the day. Always plotting and always scheming. The prospective fuel that will be garnered from the new sources that I am pursuing coupled with the dose of triangulation I will involve you in is causing me to feel excited and powerful. I pick up a bath sheet and admire the toned nature of my body as I dry myself and embark on the next stage of my preparation for the day by shaving and brushing my teeth.

A little while later my phone has chimed again and this time it is a colleague wanting to arrange lunch as he wants my advice since I am an expert on a particular topic he has to present on. The flame inside rises higher now and this spurs on my delinquent mind to consider additional ways to garner that oh so precious fuel during the day. The hunt for fuel is unending. The craven hunger that rumbles inside of me cries out for it and it is my sole preoccupation. The beast inside must be fed. Yet, now I am feeling strong. I haven’t applied my after shave and already two admirers have seen fit to worship at my altar and the games have not even yet to be played. But they will. I reach for the fragrance and splash it into my cupped hands and apply it to my neck as I look to the mirror. The handsome me has returned. The piercing blue eyes shine, the tousled, shiny locks of hair await the application of some wax to style them, the unblemished skin and close shave accentuate my chiselled good looks. I flash that winning smile as another surge of power flows through me. God I look good.

I return to the bedroom, ‘phone in hand and find you have now risen and I can hear the sounds of movement in the kitchen downstairs as you prepare breakfast as you always do. You will shortly bring me a mug of fresh coffee but I think I will complain that it is not hot enough and criticise you, just to see if I can provoke a reaction from you. It should not be too hard, I know precisely what to say. I notice the bed has not been made and rather than attend to it and help you, when you pass me my coffee with a ‘Good morning’ and a smile, I will cock my head towards the dishevelled heap and tut. Ah, yes, the master of games knows his stuff. I dress as another text arrives from another friend who wants to organise a golf game and asks for help with his swing, praising my technique. He is after more than assistance with his golf since he wants me to place work with him. He will have to provide me with more fuel yet to even be considered and of course, I will send the work elsewhere since there is someone who will give me something I want in return in a sweeter form and in larger amounts than my golfing chum. Still, the disappointment on his face will no doubt provide me with a hit too.

I can hear you coming up the stairs and I decide I will take a look in the full length mirror since I am fully attired to admire how elegant I look. I dress in a manner which says to anyone who meets me that the first move is mine. I stand and give a contented nod at my statuesque reflection. I look fantastic. I start to smile and then a bolt of anguish shoots through me as the craven creature that first lurked in the bathroom mirror appears. It is only for the briefest of instances but it causes me to exhale. My expensively-dressed self returns and the relief washes over me in an amazing way. The creature has gone again. He does that though. He likes to make fleeting appearances throughout my day to remind me that I must keep finding fuel. My quest for the potent fuel must be at the forefront of my mind at all times. As if on cue, you enter the bedroom, a veritable reservoir of fuel. You greet me as I cock my head to the unmade bed and tut. I feel the rush of power as your smile evaporates and you look crestfallen. The games have begun and my day is off to a great start. I only hope that creature stays away from me.

19 thoughts on “Try Walking In My Shoes

  1. Kasia says:

    Mr Tudor You need fuel.
    What would you do if you were alone on a desert island where you could not get fuel from other people? Would you try to get fuel from animals, would you be depressed? How would you manage then?

    1. HG Tudor says:

      I’d get on my boat and sail away.

  2. Jennie says:

    What happens to a narcissist in solitary confinement?

    1. HG Tudor says:

      Do you mean with no access to phones and other form of media?

  3. Sidney says:

    Absolutely stunning and accurate… Every time I read not only the post, but the comments as well, I am floored by how the narcs all do the exact same thing. My N was so addicted to his phone that he had two. Carried both at all times. He claimed he needed two because he was a successful business owner and he could multitask this way. What I found was he would text me how much he loved me on one phone, while simultaneously flirting/sexting other women on the other. His need to keep his phone (and hide his deeds) was so great that he took both phones into the shower with him! He also used the “3 dots ….” . Thank you for mentioning that, because I too began to predict when he was lying. He only used the … ‘S when he was somewhere he shouldn’t have been. I too have seen his softer side, embarrassment, pain. But now I know it was all a game/lie. This blog truly provides the insight and clarity that keeps me from falling prey again.

    1. Alice says:


      Wow, thanks for your comment – did we date the same guy!?!

      I can hardly believe how similar they act! :-0

      “My N was so addicted to his phone that he had two. Carried both at all times. He claimed he needed two because he was a successful business owner and he could multitask this way. What I found was he would text me how much he loved me on one phone, while simultaneously flirting/sexting other women on the other. His need to keep his phone (and hide his deeds) was so great that he took both phones into the shower with him! He also used the “3 dots ….” . Thank you for mentioning that, because I too began to predict when he was lying. He only used the … ‘S when he was somewhere he shouldn’t have been.”

      I could subscribe every single word of this!!!

      • two phones, always at armth length
      • the not phoning but only t/sexting
      • the three …’s when he was simultaneously multi-s/texting with several women
      • the slight ‘change of tone’ when he’d been somewhere deeper down the rabbit hole, somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, up to no good… (note the three dots here;-))

      Another interesting thing I read somewhere and immediately recognized – another reptilian feature: he dwas in his mid-50ies and although he hadn’t very good teeth and didn’t spent much time in the bath-room, he had little to no body odour. And a poor sense of smell.

      I once read this post here that digged into that issue:

    2. malignnarc says:

      Hi Sidney, thank you for sharing your experience and as people repeatedly comment, our kind are very similar in the way we behave. I always respond that that is because we know it works so why do anything else? After all, we are creatures of economy. People are always astounded how we can face both ways at once, but we have to, it is necessary to garner our fuel.

  4. Alice says:

    *pretty sure that he is s narcissist too – not “pretty München”, LOL!

    Although München (Munich) is very pretty:-)

  5. Alice says:

    Very good post!

    It describes the way the narc I used to spend time with and dripfeed my energy to ‘to a T.’

    The only difference is that every single morning I spent with him, I watched him battle ‘that creature’. And complain about it, fear it and sometimes surrender to it. That’s when he slipped into depression for apparently no reason at all (at least no reason apparent for an outsider).

    It was dreadful and painful to watch it happen. At first, I thought it was something about me, related to me, in me (“I failed. Why can’t he stay happy when I’m around?”).

    But then I realized it is something about him, related to him, in him. Or rather: something lacking inside of him… But what exactly was lacking?

    Why did I feel so drained, exhausted, diminished, like a walking dead after 48-hours with him. Why did I hate him and myself after spending a prolonged week-end with him? Why did I feel like trying to get out of quicksand? Like Kirsten Dunst’s character in Lars von Triers ‘Melancholia’? (By the way: I am pretty München that he is a narcissist too.)

    He was sucking out my life force, my energy and my love and left me depleted. Sometimes, even worse, he tried to re-fill me by injecting his own “stuff” into me… that dark, poisenous liquid… that SEED of evil… that infiltrated my mind, my heart and my soul, my very being, and planted doubts into my mind…

    My higher self heart me say things like ‘Okay, we *might* do a threesome some day, but I will pick the girl according to my wishes, and I don’t want her around afterwards, I want to use her like some precious beautiful object, but the she will have to go, I don’t want us to become intimate with her!”

    Thank God that threesome never happened. That God my Higher Self screamed at me to finally come to my senses and escape that evil deed!

    I remember looking into a mirror (in the guest-room which I used as a retreat space in his appartment) and saying aloud: “That’s not me anymore! I am becoming like him. I have to stop this. Please help me Good I don’t know how to stop this… help me to resist him and show me a way out, please.”

    I did get out, and I did get myself back PLUS a huge bonus of awareness and enhanced self-care, self-love, self-trust and self-respect. It took me a year to travel the ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ but I did it, and today, I am even thankful for the experience:-))

    For Healing, I highly recommend Kaleah LaRoche’s tools, free resources and programmes >; especially her podcasts on and her Psychic Chord Cutting Sessions.

    1. MLA - Clarece says:

      Alice – Both of your comments resonated so much and I could relate to all of it. My Narc had not a meltdown per say but what I thought a moment of clarity in seeing what he was doing to me. He apologized and told me he knew he crossed lines with me and put too much on me following my divorce. He never wanted to impact my life that way. It was the only time I got an apology with an explanation, not literally just saying “sorry”. Lol. The problem is that moment made me have a glimmer of hope there could be redemption and my psyche hasn’t been able to let go completely yet even though I’m getting better and tougher at going longer with no contact. Will def check out that blog. 🙂

      1. Alice says:

        @MLA-Clarece: I’m glad you are getting better and thank you for your reply. I read all of your comments and they always touch something inside of me, like: “she understands what it’s like.”

        It is the same with a handful of other commentators on this blog, which is the Main reason I return here: the comments provoked by malignarcs posts are much more interesting and much deeper than his posts! 😛

        If you have a couple of minutes, please look at this Youtube video here and let me know how it makes you feel:

        The Fade Out Line ~ Phoebe Killdeer & The Short Straws

        1. MLA - Clarece says:

          Hello Alice! Thank you for your kind words. As you can imagine, it’s very isolating and feels like a 1-person battle breaking free. I definitely believe in the power of the written word, so if anything I have written here struck a chord & resonated, I am grateful if it helped you. I did watch the video. Definitely a good song. Right after my divorce of 18 years and again now, I have my few go to favorites when I’m feeling especially angry, i.e. “Fire & Ice” and “Heartbreaker” from Pat Benetar; “25 to Life”, ” No Love”, and “Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem. Lol Whatever it takes, right? Take care!!

  6. MLA - Clarece says:

    One of your better blogs!

    “How that banshee tortures me as she howls in my ears about my waning powers. I feel the tears welling as every injustice I have ever suffered is heaped on my shoulders by an uncaring and oblivious world.”

    This encapsulates whatever unbearable wound your subconscious has buried of some kind of trauma energy inflicted at some point in your childhood of being abused or discarded yourself. This buried grief or hurt manifests itself and projects on your victims with the eventual shift leading up to discard that everyone has somehow hurt you and you will make them hurt. The energy of that emotional supply feeds into you like an addict. Hence my theory that you are as addicted to each of your victims as they subconsciously are to you.

    Your cell phone is like your crack pipe. Every text coming in from sources of supply whether friends or new girlfriends, is the drug you get your high from releasing the dopamine and self-medicating that tortured sense of lost self you wake up with when you look in the mirror. This is why I believe you enjoy the interactions with your sources more so than actual sex. However, like a drug, energy is fleeting and never holds especially in your bottomless pit inside of needing it and therefore having to hunt all day, every day for it. You need to turn that energy into some kind of vindication that your False Self is important enough to affect the people in your life.

    This blog confirmed to me the pattern I saw exist with my Narc in his contact with me when he resurfaced to when he would start to discard. If i heard from him earlier in the day, sometimes when he first got up, that was when he was attentive and obviously reeling me back in with affectionate or positive texts. If I had to wait until late in the day, I would get the caustic treatment knowing others were getting his attention and I was becoming an annoyance. Much like your girlfriend bringing you coffee and you huffy about the bed not being made. You already got your fix bright and early from Samantha and she didn’t stand a chance that morning. It really becomes transparent after time. Curious, how would you have treated your girlfriend in the house had those morning texts from Samantha and your golf friend not come in yet? I’m guessing since you needed your fresh dose of positive attention, it would have gone differently.

    Will be interested in hearing if Dr. S has returned with any insight on this that the behaviors are dictated by the brain’s messaging system to achieve rewards much like an substance addict does.

    1. Alice says:

      Excellent clear-sighted comment, I totally agree to what you said. That is how it works for them (the narcs)!

      I watched the narc and his cell phone addiction. For him, the Text messages came from a couple of primary sources of supply (me and another woman in the fore-Front plus his daugther, ex-wife and a couple of ‘good old friends’, Male and female). The there were his countless secondary sources of supply coming from his constant ‘texting and sexting’ on a sex affair dating site (similar to Cupid, but the German version).

      During a moment of narcissistic break-down, he himself told me that he’d ‘spoiled over 7 years on that site, sexting to those women’ and that he’d ‘missed half of the life of his daugther’. Yeah, true.

      One day, he told me “I have cancelled my online profiled, I will get rid of this habit (he even said ‘addiction’) in the same way I withdrew from nicotine: by going cold turkey until I become abstinent.”
      “I don’t think it will work that way, at least not on the long-run”, I replied, “and although I am a very multi-faced woman, I am still just ONE woman; I can’t and do not want to be all women on this earth.”
      “Don’t worry”, he said, “if I want to stop it, I CAN and WILL stop it.”

      He managed to stop from the end of March to August or September or October. I broke up with him at the beginning of September (last year). I didn’t check until mid-December because I noticed a change in the style of his hoovering text messages to me. He used the same style he used back then when ‘sexting’ to me:

      “…. hi there, you look gorgeous in that new dress on your profile pic:-)
      Will you be in Brussels sometime again in the near future? I am just sitting in our parc, you know….”

      He always used the three dots [….] to start and end his messages when he was ‘acting out’ on his online t/sexting addiction, and his text messages never included more than three sentences. That had even become a running gag between us in the early stages. But later, I knew it was a sure tell-sign that he had returned to his old, addictive patterns.

      So I searched for his nickname in the online dating site. And there it was up again. Same nick, same (false) age, same profile infos, same preferences (“the game of seduction… with words, looks and subtle gestures… high heels, red lips, delicate lingerie) . Looking for a “sexy, intelligent, imaginative” woman.

      Yeah, right. The ultimate discard for me, the ultimate game of triangulation for him. Only I stopped playing it, unlike the OW. She has agreed to ‘stay friends’. Poor gal:-/

  7. Rebecca says:

    This is 100% accurate-100% narc!!

  8. Sociopaths love being who they are. They have no regrets about it.

  9. Steph says:

    Is this accurate? Wow.

    1. Misti says:

      Steph – you ask is this accurate. Having lived with the creature for 20 years I can tell you it is so accurate I cry now knowing what it is. If only I had known.

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