How many times during your dance with the narcissist did you dread your home that you shared looming into view as you drove towards it or the taxi neared it? How many times did you sit wishing that you were still out and away from its dark, hulking menace as you fumbled for your house keys? How many times did you endure that drive back to the house with us at the wheel as the once vibrant conversation slowly dried up and a heavy, forboding silence engulfed the interior of the vehicle. Can you feel that knotted sensation in your stomach again as you see our silhouette at the window where we have been evidently keeping watch for your return? The sickness rising in your chest as you see the door slowly open and left ajar, beckoning you inside but we do not stand there waiting to greet you as we foreshadow what awaits you.

It seems that it is only you that suffers this treatment in your own home. It is meant to be a place of sanctuary a place where the toils and troubles of the world outside your window are meant to halt at the door. It should be a place where you feel warm, loved and safe. Goodness knows you have attempted to instil these things in your home as you have worked hard to make it a pleasant and inviting environment, a place to relax and be yourself. Unfortunately with us you succeeded to well in respect of that last part. Visitors to your home are always warmly greeted by us, cheeks kissed and hands shaken, a firm pat on the back as words of welcome are aired. We act the perfect host, accommodating guests, never hurrying them to leave, always offering a further drink. Of course you play your role as we order you about so you are the one organising the food and relaying the drinks, but it is done in a warm and appreciate manner which belies the reality of our standing over you. You pour the wine into the four glasses as you reflect on how this is the third set you have to buy this year and you are only in May as once the guests have disappeared into the night those glasses are thrown to the floor to shatter as some minor and entirely inconsequential transgression on your part is seized on and becomes the platform for a bout of intimidating fury. How quickly the host becomes the beast once the audience has departed. So many times you have insisted on our guests staying longer and on some occasions offered the spare room in order to keep what invariably follows at bay. Sometimes you have managed to stretch out their attendance until we have nodded off, infused with alcohol and a hearty meal which has enabled you to say good bye to our guests as we have snoozed as you prefer nor to wake the beast in to two senses of the word. You tiptoe past us only pausing, ever the caring person, to place a blanket over us as you then quietly head for bed relieved to avoid one of those scenes.

When your taxi halts outside after you have managed to escape the house for a rare night out and you pay the driver, eyes flitting back and forth from that ajar door, the gateway to hell that has yawned open and is beckoning you in, your despair and apprehension rises. The outside world has no comprehension of what goes on between those walls. To everyone else you appear a content couple, enjoying a good lifestyle. Our carefully constructed façade ensures that we are afforded the recognition and status that our kind is entitled to. We ensure that everyone else knows us to be capable, successful, entertaining and personable. That is the reason we receive so many invitations to drinks receptions, dinner, evenings out and prestigious balls. You know that you must never decline them for attendance is mandatory to allow us to walk amongst our people and shine, drinking deep of their admiring fuel. We give speeches at charitable functions and announce a healthy donation as we maintain the gloss of decency and respectableness whilst kicking you under the table so that you smile to all who are looking our way. Our greatness is acknowledged by all in our community and the maintenance of this façade is hugely important to us and not something we can allow to be pierced or destroyed.

Yet all of the charm, the apparent generosity (those donations never come from our pocket but from those of a business we belong to our others we have persuaded to sponsor the event but we of course always take the credit) and the warmth evaporates once the threshold to our house has been crossed. At times, as we have driven away from an event, you have wanted to open the car door and jump out and run away down the road away from the impending horror which you know is waiting for you. You recognise the signs. There is the reduction and eventual extinguishing of conversation after we have muttered some terse criticism of you. You know better than to try to argue back. The drive seems to take an age and you can feel our churning fury as you sit beside us in the passenger seat. As we round the corner and the house comes into view you want to pass out, you want to be removed from the situation but you know you cannot. You walk with heavy footsteps towards that door. We always enter before you and leave it open, in the same way we do when you have gone out without us. It is a clear signal. You are entering our domain now and you will answer for your failure to smile at one of our jokes, or the fact you spent twenty minutes talking to someone else rather than stand laughing and supporting me amongst my coterie. You did not fill up my glass and attended to someone else rather than me. You wolfed down your starter which lacked elegance and decorum. You failed to make a bid during the charity auction. You went to the toilet during a speech. You rolled your eyes at one of my golden anecdotes (having heard it a hundred times before). The list of transgressions, both real and imagined, is long and we will always find something that you have done incorrectly during our time away from the house and once returned you will be punished as we unleash one of our manipulative tools from our devil’s toolkit in order to devalue you. We hope you might argue back and unleash some anger, but more often than not as we push the front door closed with a click and move towards you it is the upset and tears that flow. As our shadow falls over you, already your eyes are welling with tears as you know what will come behind that closed door. The charitable largesse we ladle out to the world at large always ends at home.

Advertisements

Can you feel me next to you? I am there. I am with you. I always am. Even when I am not physically present I am besides you, wrapped around you and with you. I promised that I would always be with you and I meant that promise. It is my role to ensure that I am always there, so you feel safe and reassured by my presence. Do you feel me there? Yes that’s right, you can feel me in the pit of your stomach, that light sensation which is a mixture of delight and anticipation. Can you feel my touch on your skin? Yes, that tingling feeling you are experiencing right now is me placing a guarding hand upon you. Do you feel my breath upon your neck as I whisper besides you? I thought so. I am everywhere and always with you, maintaining my role as your guardian and protector. You are never alone and therefore never need feel alone. I am always watching over you and ensuring that you come to no harm. When you wake in the middle of those dark hours and feel like you are falling I will be there to catch you. I have you in my arms as I am strong and fearless. Whatever slings and arrows that come your way you can rest easy knowing that they shall never penetrate my defences. I have built my walls thick, the towers high and my citadel is impregnable. You are safe there. Do you feel my essence within you, lifting you up and guiding you? Do you feel my touch on your shoulder steering you through that maze of indecision and trepidation? You will readily pass through it. Feel my hand in yours as I shall never let you go. I shall lead you past those false guardians who writhe with jealousy at what we have, their seditious words bouncing against my shield and dissipating on the righteous truth that resides there. These gargoyles cannot harm you. They may hiss and claw the air but that only highlights their impotence for they cannot pierce the veil that I have drawn about you which protects you by my very presence. When you feel despair reach deep inside of yourself and you will find me there. A core of reassurance that is within you ready to be called upon whenever you require. I am about you, within you and around you, protecting you with my massive angelic wingspan so the brutes and fiends can find no way through. These charlatans and deviants fall at your feet, overwhelmed by the magnificence you display as my aura shines around you. I am always there fore you, guiding, leading, shielding and completing. Do you feel me?

I am coiled around you squeezing the living breath from you. Do you feel me? Do you feel that cold dread hand as it grips your throat, preventing you from calling out. Do you recall the times you woke shaking as the nightmare had its hold over you as you felt paralysed and unable to speak. Do you feel me do that to you now? Do you feel my toxins pouring through your weakening body as I feast on you. I am all around you. I am all about you. I am inside you. Does your skin itch with that sense of filth that has lingered for too long about you? Can you hear the vitriolic words as I hiss them into your ravaged ears? Of course you can because I am right beside you. Do you feel my hot and fetid breath against your cheek as I continue with my tirade of abuse, the soiled words spilling over like a fountain of grime which spatters against your once flawless skin and sticks to it. Try as you might to remove it, no matter how hard you pull and scrub the mire cannot be removed because I am all around you. I am tangled in your hair, lurking under your eyelids, tucked beneath your nails and pulsing through your heart. I sit like a lead weight on your chest slowly crushing you as more weights are piled on and the noxious air in your lungs is steadily pushed from inside you. My polluting touch pockmarks your skin and my sharp nails tear at you, leaving scratches across you that sting and continue to remind you of my presence. My blackened soul has poured into your mouth, your nose and your ears, infesting you. The poison blocks your lungs, trickles into your blood and insidiously creeps towards your failing heart. Do you feel me inside you now? Does that rising sense of panic tell you that I am very much a part of you now? Does that awful anxiety signal to you that you and I have become one? You consented of course. You wanted me all about you, around you and inside you, do you remember that? Or is it the case that the fog which has enveloped you is dulling your mind and slowing your thinking? Your eyes once so full of life and vibrancy now only show that dulled reflection of my leering face as I hold your limp head next to mine and peer into your eyes searching for that flicker of fuel that I know is still somewhere inside you, waiting to be extracted. Do you feel the strings as I pull them ,jerking your arms and making you continue your dance with me even though you have no will to do so? Do you feel those attachments yank you along taking you to places you do not want to go when you once did? Can you feel me? I know you can because you let me in. You allowed me access and I flooded you with my magnificence in order to admit my malice. Can you feel anything other than my malign grip around you? I suspect not as I see you are weakening by the moment. I have engulfed you, encompassed you and enveloped you. You and I have merged and become one with one another. You are me and I am you. Tell me, how does it feel?