Tell Me What You Are Thinking

You may remember Sophie who was one of my ex-girlfriends. She was a happy-go-lucky kind of person and loved dashing from person to person wishing them well. She was like a machine spewing out good wishes, pleasantries and compliments.

“You look really well,you have lost weight.”

“That skirt really suits you.”

“I heard you recently got married, you must be really happy. That’s really wonderful.”

“Hey great news on that new job. I am really pleased for you.”

“You look so content, I am really happy for you.”

She was really, really good natured. Oh and she used really a lot. There was not a bad bone in Sophie’s body and she always saw the good side of everything. I was by turns fascinated by how she managed it and also hugely attracted by her capacity to find victory from the jaws of defeat.

“He’s grumpy because he is tired, he works very hard you know.”

“I guess he didn’t have time to speak to me today, he has really huge responsibilities. He really has.”

“I don’t mind that he forgot my birthday, I am just really pleased to be with him, that’s a good enough present for me.”

“I haven’t heard from him so I guess he is out with his friends. It is really good to spend time with other people now and again, it keeps things really fresh.”

She just skipped along merrily handing out kindness and warmth as if that was all she was programmed to do. I reached this conclusion because behind the permanent smile, the twinkling eyes and elated expression she wore there really was not a lot else. She had no interest in politics, current affairs, sport, history, literature and so on. She would listen patiently if I railed against the latest proposals concerning immigration nodding and smiling and when I asked her what she thought she would say,

“Oh all of that is for people really clever. It’s not for me.”

She was never dismissive in the sense of pouring scorn on it just because she was not interested or she did not understand. No, she just had no interest because she felt it was beyond her, not something she had to be concerned about. She was concerned with just one thing ; skipping around like some modern day fairy sprinkling goodness everywhere. I do think she lacked much in the way of her own opinions and thoughts because she usually deflected any attempt to get her to critique something with a self-effacing comment like the one above. She never seemed to be caught in a moment of contemplation. She never seemed to pause for thought. She would just ask what I thought. She did this repeatedly. She was always concerned to know what I was thinking about.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Where is your mind today?”

“What’s going on upstairs?”

Repeatedly throughout the day, as  we sat watching television, after we had made love, during dinner, going for a walk, when I was shaving and so on. Always wanting to know what I was thinking. So I told her. From the mundane (“This shaving gel is not as good as the last lot I bought”) through to the loving (“I was just thinking how wonderful it is being with you”) to the scathing (“I was just wondering why on earth I am with such an empty-headed woman as you”). That was all she wanted to know. What was I thinking? On and on she would go, asking and asking and no matter what I said, be it compliment or nasty comment or ephemera she would smile and give a satisfied nod.

 All of this made her very attractive to someone like me at the outset as she was a real high volume fuel generator but once that wore thin, it was rather difficult to denigrate her so she would react the way that I wanted. She put me in mind of that toy the Weeble. The catchphrase surrounding the Weeble was “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.”Sophie was like that. I would be horrible to her and she maintained a smile (although I thought or at least hoped she was dying inside) and made an excuse and found a rationale for my unpleasantness. Insults just seemed to bounce off her. Smashing plates and ornaments caused her to stand and watch with a slightly perplexed look on her face before she tidied the pieces away. She did not cry or show fear. I would sit and flirt with other women online and comment to Sophie about how attractive they were. She would look over and agree with my comments and go on to compliment how white their teeth were or how she liked their hairstyle. If I wandered in during the middle of the morning she would just ask how my night had gone. I am sure she could smell other women on me but she did not seem to react. It was as if she was wrapped in this coating of pleasantness that was impervious to any nastiness thrown at her. She would either respond with a soothing comment, make an excuse for what I had said or done or just not react and get on with her day. I used to wonder if she had me worked out and this was her way of negating me. How had she done this? Who had put her on to this strategy?

One weekend she was staying with me at my house and I returned earlier than she expected. She had not heard me come in (it is often said that I manage to move around with a strange ability to be very quiet, popping up without warning) and I could hear her talking in the bedroom. I crept closer and through the slightly ajar door I realised she was talking to herself.

“Must not think, do not think Sophie. Just keep doing. Smile and shine, shine and smile. Keep going forward. Don’t think about it. We know what happens when you think about it. Bad things happen but we don’t do bad things do we? No. Only good things. I don’t do the thinking, he does. I need to know what he is thinking and then I can make him happy, it is only fair, he deserves it doesn’t he? Don’t think Sophie, must not do that, come on, you can do this, you always do. Do it don’t daydream.”

I stole away and then realised what I needed to do to break her.

After that, whenever she asked me what was I thinking about, I would respond by saying “Nothing.” She would look puzzled and ask again. I would repeat my answer. She then would look slightly anxious. I would turn to her and ask

“What are you thinking about”

She would try and deflect my question by asking me again or changing the subject but now I knew how to get to her. I would never tell her what I was thinking and instead pursue her to tell me what was going on inside that sugary head of hers. It worked. She became upset, angry, frustrated and anxious so I kept it going and going and going. I have no idea why it troubled her so much. Her eyes filled with panic when I kept saying nothing and then she seemed to shrink, her light dimming as I asked her about what she was really thinking. She could not cope with it. I did not work out what it was about thinking that caused her so much consternation and I did not care, all that mattered to me was being able to provoke her into giving me that emotional reaction. It seemed that too much thinking on her part was a dangerous thing indeed. The important thing was that I had worked out how to provoke the provision of negative fuel. Makes you think doesn’t it?

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A Missive From Mother

Do you remember Dr M? The fine suit wearing doctor with the soon to be worn away crotch? Of course you do. Well as you will recall the first consultation ended in a resounding victory to me as I kept him at bay with my silent treatment. I fair floated out of his consulting room and exited onto the cold street outside. Two days after this trouncing of Dr M I received a letter. I knew straight away who it was from. She always used 100gsm manila C5 envelopes. The quality and weight of the envelope was something she was fastidious about. She would often snort at personal letters which arrived in anything which was white and below the weight she preferred. I naturally recognised her immaculate copperplate handwriting as well. I knew what would be contained in the enclosed letter but I read it anyway.

“Dear HG

To sin by silence when they should protest makes cowards of men.

Speak up or suffer the consequences.

With fondness

Mother”

I tore the letter up. Her hypocrisy was evident once again. There she was chastising me for remaining silent with Dr M when all through her life (or at least that much that I could actually recall) she had used silence. Silence to convey her fury with anyone who had not given her what she wanted. Silence to let people know that they were in the wrong. Silence to hurt. Silence to control. Silence to compel. The High Priestess of Hush was admonishing me for saying nothing. She should be praising me but then I had come to expect this. I keenly observed her deportment. Impeccable manners, politeness, punctuality and high standards. Shoes must always be black for men, there is no brown in town. A Windsor knot in my tie (I had to learn at ten years old to do it myself. I can remember standing in the living room with the tears of frustration trickling down my face as I was scolded for getting it wrong once again). Never wear white shirts unless it is a funeral or you are an airline pilot. Oh or a police officer. At dinner remember to ask “Do you know the Bishop of Norwich?” and “Is your passport in order?” All her lectures I absorbed and obeyed and most of all I learned all about her use of silence. I had done exactly as I should when dealing with someone who was trying to undermine me. That Dr M was trying to unnerve me and make him the superior being in the room. He soon came undone when faced by the Tudor Icewall. I did precisely the right thing but there we are it was the wrong thing according to the Duchess of Disdain. I did not take kindly to the threat contained in the letter either but I could not ignore it. And she knew that. Of course she knew that. She fires off one of her standard howitzer quotations in order to gain the high ground. Typically she was economic with her writing too.

“No letter should ever be more than a page in length, any more and you are waffling.”

I can hear her saying that now. Mind you, she was right about that and was right about most things, I am like her in that respect, that much I will concede. Nevertheless I did not welcome this diktat and hurled the torn pieces of paper on the floor before I stormed out of my house. I felt wounded by this correspondence. She could always wound me so easily with her letters. Whenever she wanted to set me straight she would send me a letter. It was like a papal bull and it always made me feel crippled. Whenever I received one of these letters I could feel the scorching criticism tearing through me and I needed to douse it. I needed to find a salve for the affliction. It was no good confronting her. She would only make matters worse. No others would pay in order to ease my suffering and pay they did.

I lambasted the girl on reception at the office for not having her hair tied up and found three other petty reasons to tear a strip off her. She was soon in tears. I threw a report from a junior colleague back at him and told him to come back when he had learned how to do joined-up writing. I told my secretary her forthcoming extended weekend break was cancelled because there was too much work to do. I removed another colleague from leading a team and appointed one of his peers instead. I knew from her grateful smile and thankful gaze that I had credit to be used from between her legs and I would readily do so by the end of the day. I wrote some disgusting graffiti about a head of department in one of the cubicles in the gentlemens’ bathroom. I got my secretary to ring the restaurant where I did most of my entertaining and as I stood listening she was instructed to tell them that their sablefish was sub-standard and for that reason my expense account would be used at a competitor establishment. The manager of the restaurant rang four times to apologise and sent a bottle of champagne in order to try and win back my patronage. I called my sister and told her how useless she was and she was never to ring me ever again. I cancelled a meeting and spent two hours blitzing three fuel prospects with texts, ensuring the content became progressively filthier. I telephoned my then girlfriend and explained I had to take someone else out for dinner in the evening and put the phone down on her. I was a whirlwind of malice throughout the rest of the day until as 6pm approached I realised the horrible burning inside had ceased and I felt cleansed. I sat at my desk and dragged my hand across my face relieved to have overcome the weakness that threatened to topple me as a consequence of that single sheet of paper with the minimum of words etched upon it.

I opened one of the drawers on my desk and selected a single heavy sheet of cream paper. I set it straight before me and taking up my fountain pen I began to write.

“Mother dearest,

The word listen contains the same letters as the word silent. Dr M will listen.

Yours

HG”

I slid the letter in the envelope and smiled. She would be proud of me this time, surely?

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Sex and the Narcissist

No holds barred and no strings attached

The only unnatural sex act is that which you cannot perform

Read about how the narcissist views and uses sex and how you are central in that

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But How Could He Do This To Me?

I have heard this said so many times, read about it from bewildered and perplexed people and know from experience the confusion that accompanies this question.

“But how could he do this to me after everything else? He said he loved me.I know he loved me. How does someone love someone else in such a perfect way and then act as if he does not even know them?”

I have written about how the empath likes to know everything. This is not because you are big-headed or wish to boast. You like to know everything in order to allow you to help. You need to understand a situation. It has to make sense to you. You must be able to comprehend what has happened and find some logical reason for the occurrence. This is why you spend so long trying to work us out. This is why when we are doling out the silent treatment you need to ascertain why we are doing it (I think now you understand we do it because we need to, not because there is a valid (according to your reality) reason for this behaviour). It is a natural empathic reaction. If you understand why something has happened you can then consider the ways in which it can be addressed, remedied and fixed. You want everything to be alright.

Accordingly, when our devaluation is unleashed against you it comes out of nowhere. Yesterday we held hands as we walked through the park together and kissed beneath the spreading oak. Today you have been subjected to a nasty period of name-calling and blaming. You are dumbfounded. Where on earth did that come from? In your reality it makes no sense at all. One minute every is okay,nothing changes but then suddenly we are being horrible to you. It just does not add up. It makes no sense. It gets worse.Not only does it not follow in a logical sense since our response (viewed in your reality remember) seems random, how can a person who says he loves you then batter you with his fists, lock you out of your home, sleep rape you, smash up your car, spit on you and so on? Not only is it not a normal sequence of events if you love somebody then you just do not do that, do you?

This is what makes it so difficult for you to comprehend. We have conned you into thinking that we loved you. We gave you the huge seduction and dazzled you with the golden period. We know what you perceive love to be and we gave it to you in spade loads all manufactured by Narc Inc. Our production line went into over time creating these false acts and hollow declarations of love but you fell for it. You always do. Accordingly, you were duped into thinking that we loved you so that when we begin to devalue you it flies completely in the face of what you understand to be the situation.

You will sit for hours with your close friends and recite example after example of all the wonderful things that we have said and done and then ask,

“How can he hurt me when he loves me so much?”

It is utterly perplexing. Naturally there is method in this madness. If it made sense, if there was a logical reason for this volte face you are more likely to accept it and walk away. This twisted and nonsensical logic is purposefully designed to keep you with us because:-

  • You must know what has happened and make sense of it
  • You want to make things right
  • You want the wonderful golden period again
All of this keeps you right besides us. Guess what? We dole out even more awful behaviour and it still does not make sense and you still do not go. We give you a glimpse of the golden period and your confusion increases. He does still love me I knew it. Then the door is slammed shut and you are left confused yet again but even worse this time, the brief return to the golden period has given you additional hope. You still do not go.
For once, rather than looking at it through your own eyes, consider it from our point of view. The devaluation does not come out of nowhere. It does to you but not to us. It happens because you are not giving us our fuel in the strength, quantity and frequency we demand. That is the logic behind our change in behaviour.
Why is it then that we are able to hurt you when we love you so much? Again, look at it through our eyes and the answer is straight forward. We never loved you. Accordingly, we are not affected by what appears (in your world) to be a hurtful and contradictory shift in our behaviour. Let me help you further. To us you are just an appliance. Initially because this appliance does what we want we look after it. We clean it, maintain it and take pride in it. Then it goes wrong. It is too much effort to try and repair it. We are horrible to you in order to make you work in a different way rather than trying to repair you to run as normal. Remember how people would slap the side of their television to make it work or give the washing machine a kick in the hope of causing it to run properly? You are just the same. You are an appliance and we give you a boot be it figurative or literal to make you provide us with fuel of a negative nature. We eventually get fed up that you are not working as we want you to so we chuck you on the scrap heap like so many discarded fridges, computers and washing machines. We have seen a new, shiny model which has attracted our attention instead.
So when you sit and wonder why this devaluation has happened, why our behaviour makes no sense and how can it be that someone who expresses such perfect love can be so hurtful, you know the answer. It makes no sense in your world but every sense in our world where you are just an appliance. Perhaps you had better start thinking about making some self-improvements and increasing your longevity yes?

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To Understand is to Escape

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Arm yourself with understanding and knowledge. Know your foe.

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Hair’s To You

I have always been a fan of red-headed women. Oh and blonde-haired ones too. Of course I love brunettes as well. From deep auburn to fiery titian, platinum blonde to ash blonde, chestnut to raven black I love them all. Show me red-gold, mahogany, black brown, highlights or lowlights they all work for me. Long hair, short hair, cropped, bobbed, straight or curly. I love them all. I recall on one occasion talking with a female friend who I had designs on. We were sat in the café of an art gallery and the topic moved onto hair. She asked me what was my favourite type of hair colour.

“Oh raven black,most definitely, I shot back without even pausing to think.”

She smiled and raised a hand to push it through her raven black locks. If the waitress had come over and asked the same question then I would have said blonde as I gazed at her short bobbed blonde hair. On other occasions I might get asked this by someone else and naturally I would tell them my favourite. Lo and behold it just happened to be the same as the one she had.

“You are just saying that because it is my colour,” she responded.

“No, it is my absolute favourite. All of my previous girlfriends had strawberry blonde hair.”

“Really? I thought the one before me was a brunette. I saw a picture of her.”

“Oh her? No, no, she was not my girlfriend. Goodness me no, she was just a friend. Admittedly we did lock lips a couple of times, but it was nothing, she was a tad obsessed if you really must know.”

“Was she? I am sure you referred to her as your girlfriend.”

“You must have her confused with an earlier one maybe. No, always been ladies with strawberry blonde hair, it is a particular weakness of mine.”

If she had green hair with blue dots in it I would have said the exact same thing. Sometimes these comments have been said so many times but with the appropriate alterations that I cannot help but say them. Occasionally, if my target has some awareness and has been listening, I might contradict myself but I have enough charm and evasiveness to get out of the situation.

Hair colours and hair styles are such a useful device for currying favour with a target or by contrast upsetting them. When all is well in the world and we are enjoying our golden period, then whatever you do to your hair I love it. You can colour it, put in extensions or even shave it all off. I will always tell you how beautiful you look because that is what you want to hear. With every visit to the hairdresser’s a lady wants that compliment. I have seen you sashaying back from a visit to the salon and parading before me. I will be effusive in my praise, espousing how natural it looks, how the colour sets off your eyes and the shape frames your face magnificently. I have a whole list of suitably complimentary comments to churn out when you return with your new ‘do’.

The stock that a lady places in the power of a new hair style of hair cut is such that it really makes it too easy to gather some negative fuel. I can tell you are really happy with this new style and you are just waiting for the compliments. Not today. Why should it be all about you and your new hairstyle? What about me? I look after my hair too and have it cut every twelve days so it always looks smart, but do you say anything? No. You regard a man and his hair as purely something of function. You on the other hand regard the colour and style as an opportunity to express yourself. Feel free because I am only to happy to rain on your parade and make that sleek do go frizzy. I will frown and peer at your new hairstyle.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as your triumphant smile vanishes.

“It does not suit you.”

“Why? How? Roger at the salon said it was very me.”

“Well he would when you spend that ridiculous sum of money there. It does not suit you. It makes your face look too….severe.”

“Are you serious?”

Damn right I am serious. This is about getting some lovely fuel from you and this is too good an opportunity to pass up. Whereas once I rolled out the barrage of compliments, I know issue my damning verdict on how wrong the colour is, it is too short, too long, too voluminous. I will pick fault and soon have you running from the room to the bedroom to cry and try and alter it. You bring it on yourselves you know, you really do.

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