The Crying Game – Part Four
The production of tears and the emotion associated with such production has always been a source of fascination for me. I have shared with you my experiences and observations concerning pain, upset, pride and joy. The final part of this quartet concerns another occasion when the tears begin to flow. Just in the same way that I first witnessed and felt the power that I obtained from causing someone to shed tears of joy when I was at university, it was at this ancient seat of learning that I found another way of causing those tears to fall.
A later girlfriend who arose, after Trish (from Part Three) fell by the wayside, was Anita. A vivacious young lady, with long blonde hair, bright in outlook and intelligence and with an excellent sense of humour we had a rip-roaring time together for some seven months or so and then came the summer. We both returned to the places where we lived, about a hundred and fifty miles apart so not a huge journey even on this small island. Anita had taken a job and the hours varied considerably from week to week so that I did not hear from her as often as I wanted. This concerned me and coincided with an interest in a close friend who I had known from sixth form called Lucy who was also at university and had also returned to our home town for the summer. We began to spend quite a lot of time together and I found that her attention to me put into sharp focus the less attentive approach from Anita. I knew she was busy with the summer job that she had taken but despite this knowledge, I resented her failure to keep in touch with me as often as she had promised at the end of the academic year. When she did telephone I was monosyllabic with my answers and when I decided I did want to talk I began to tell her about all the things that Lucy and I were doing together. The walks through the countryside, the book we planned to write together, the discussions about our forthcoming careers, going swimming, going boating and so on. I knew that Anita was trying to hide any concerns about this sudden and seemingly intense friendship which had sprung up with Lucy, but she could not mask the disappointment that showed in her voice when I launched into a lengthy monologue about my day with Lucy. I found the sensation of power which arose when I talked about Lucy and when Anita tried to sound interested but the nervousness in her voice betrayed her and showed she was worried by this burgeoning friendship. Good. So she should be nervous. She should have been more attentive and been a good girlfriend. Nothing physical had happened between Lucy and I but that was just a question of time. In fact, I was pleased that nothing had happened in that regard because I could maintain that my relationship with Lucy was indeed one of friendship and it provided me with the moral high ground to cast aspersions and denigrate Anita if she tried to suggest there was anything untoward occurring.
This situation continued and each time we spoke I could tell Anita was concerned and was maintaining a brave front. In one telephone conversation she commented,
“I know you spend a lot of time with Lucy, HG, but that does not bother me at all.”
There was something new when she said this though. A defiance. I did not take kindly to that. I noticed that the usual powerful sensations that I felt during this telephone conversation were absent.
I decided that I would not take any calls from Anita after that. I would refuse to emerge from my room as my father shouted up to me that Anita was wanting to talk to me. I would hear him making excuses on my behalf, that I was asleep, or I had gone out and he had not realised. As this silent treatment extended into a second week, with Anita still telephoning on a daily basis, my father began to engage in conversations with her. I stood on the landing above listening to him in the hallway below trying to reassure her and assuage her concerns. I recall standing there, hands on the bannister, feeling the sensation of power washing over me as I thought of her anxious and worried, repeatedly calling and discussing this ongoing situation with my father. I know he liked Anita. He had met her in previous holidays. My father liked most people and saw the best in people. People liked him as well which often irritated my mother in the extreme, but this is not her tale. Not this time.
My father would argue Anita’s case for her, outlining that it was not very fair to not speak to her and that she was clearly worried that she had upset me in some way but did not know why. I thanked for father for his concerns and his attempt to broker a peace but this was between Anita and me. He pushed it no further with me, he knew by now better than to do so, but he continued to entertain Anita’s morning, afternoon or evening call (dependent on her shifts) in order to keep giving her hope that I would “snap out of it” or “come to my senses” as he put it.
We reached the third week of the silent treatment. I was enjoying myself. I was gaining daily attention from Lucy who called on me every day in order to ensure we did something together. I had no need to try to impress her any longer. She was hooked. I was also gaining the attention from Anita as her telephone calls and consultations with my father continued. Sometimes I was in and I listened, sometimes I was out and my father left me a note saying Anita had called. It was satisfying.
Into this third week, on a warm summer’s evening when I had returned from a day out in the countryside with Lucy, there came the chime of the old doorbell being activated. I was alone in the house and made my way to the partition door and stepped into the porch. The large wooden door had a diamond pane of glass set in it which enabled me to see who the visitor was. It was Anita. She had turned to look behind her, no doubt enjoying the wonderful view across the fields as they were lit up still by the sun. I ducked back so she could not see me. The power began to surge through me again. She had travelled to see me, without warning and knowing that I was not speaking to her. I noticed she had even appeared with a small suitcase as well in the hope of staying. She clearly did not want to let go. I was delighted by this. She had learned hadn’t she that she had been failing in her attentiveness to me? By administering this silence, something I had learned from dearest mother, I had caused her to realise her error and up her efforts in respect of me, resulting in her disrupting her working schedule and travelling to me.
To have her do this showed just how much I mattered to her and also how effective giving her the silent treatment was. I punched the air in delight with the powerful sensation still rushing over me, but there was more. I let her ring again and then I opened the door. I stood looking down at her as she stood on the second step. She looked at me, eyes wide in expectation but a nervousness about her too. She said nothing as I look at her.
“Hello Anita,” I smiled, “you have no idea how happy I am to see you on this doorstep again, my goodness I have missed you like you wouldn’t believe.”
I expected her to laugh, to smile but instead she burst into tears, her attractive face scrunching up as the tears flowed.
“What is it?” I asked completely foxed by this response.
She stepped forward and placed her arms about me. I reciprocated as she squeezed me tight, great wracking sobs coursing through her.
“Oh HG, I thought you had had enough of me, that you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
“Of course not, I er, just needed to do some thinking about things and it made me realise that er, it’s you that I want.”
She lifted her head and looked straight at me.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
She started to cry again, a smile breaking through the continuing tears.
“HG, you have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that to me.”
It was then that I understood. This tearful display was borne out of relief. Relief at having the silence broken. Relief at being held in my arms again. Relief that our relationship remained intact. The sensation was electrifying and I learned just how powerful the effect of seeing tears of relief was. I revelled in knowing that by my grace and decision I could grant her access to me once again and her relief poured from her, invigorating and edifying me. That moment, like so many other moments of realisation has stayed with me and I have used the power to cause those tears of relief to flow and the consequent fuel that arises to good effect on many occasions since.
31 thoughts on “The Crying Game – Part Four”
Vent Your Spleen! (Please see the Rules in Formal Info)
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I bet you will not post my comments.
You don’t rape our souls. You make them stronger. Maybe that’s why you are here. Jesus Christ was not born in a wealthy and good family and period as well. He had to suffer all the bad stuff and bad people to be able to resist and bring out the good things inside of him. That is your only purpose here I guess. To make us better human beings. What a sad role you have on earth. I’m glad to be me, an empath.
What a sad and meaningless life. Just running around gathering fuel all the time and not being able to feel real love, joy or even sadness. What’s purpose of being here on earth then? From a spiritual angle, it’s hard to grasp. Except that maybe you make us better people after having “seen” evil. Bad creates good. How do you see it? And do you ever regret not having real feelings?
I am incapable of regret. I do have real feelings, just not as many as you.
HG is describing the behaviour of pure evil. It was very hard to accept that most people like this do not have control or do not know what they do at that moment. They may reflect later and regret . Once you are confident that you are created in an image and likeness then people like HG have no control over you.
The sad part is you realize only after you suffer
I think you mean you KNOW I did. 😉
You used the word tranche and I may or may not have swooned a little bit.
I think you did.
Silent treatment I did not tolerate with him. He got it too .. such a childish action . Very childish . Your a grown man. Not a child. Your mother did it so your doing it too .. should have been more like your father .
Me instead can see the girl crying of relief.
And I see… working so much is not so good… 😖😖
Yeah, my mother HATES when anyone finds my father likable, and she really hates when he does anything to appear likable (like when we spent a day at the beach as a family, some 30 years ago, and he just had to be a gentleman & help that single mother set up her umbrella, she berated him for the whole day). She enjoys controlling the balance & imbalance in people’s lives, maybe more than you do. But I gave up crying (I cried when my maternal grandmother died, when I was 9, but I can’t remember crying anytime after that). The fact that I REFUSE TO CRY when she berates, strikes, threatens me, she fucking hates that.
If (more like when) you engaged Lucy in sexual congress – to use a term you and a lot of your fans here enjoy – did Anita find out?
No she didn’t Cody.
I imagine thus began the discovery into continuing the triangulation that summer by continuing to spend time with Lucy while making Anita keep up her A-game? You jumped on that gravy train to see how far it would take you while honing your skills for post University life.
I wonder how many people have the strength and honesty to admit they`ve experienced the same feelings once or twice (maybe even more) in their lifetime?
I think most can relate at least somewhat to this, whether they want to admit it or not. I know I do (relate to what you`ve written).
I know I do enjoy knowing that I can bring a man to his knees with a glance or a whispered word said just so.
I know how to make people feel special and comfortable in my presence. In my case though, I genuinely do regard these people as special, which is why I aim to make them feel so.
I also enjoy knowing that I can cut someone down to size with my words if the situation calls for it. I can admit I can be a rather vengeful little thing when I want to be.
What I love about your writing, HG, is that it inspires me to take a closer look at myself. I am not afraid of the similarities or comfort I find in your words, I embrace them as your words are leading me to a greater understanding my myself and the little world that turns around me.
I am not sure I could ever thank you enough, though god knows, I`d love to try.
You are truly at your best (in writing) when you recount an autobiographical incident for us. We (those of us on receiving end of N attention, anyway) immediately empathize with the fuel supply in the particular story- not just due to empathy, but because most of us have been in the nearly exact same situation- and many emotions come flooding back in full force. I speak for myself but would guess many of the visitors here can relate.
Thank you Cody. It’s interesting because Ive noticed that on the blog people enjoy the autobiographical whereas on FB they prefer me to talk about the effect on them as victims
I really appreciate your autobiographical stories because they give a much better point of reference to compare the similarities with my Narc’s actions or even those that I suspect have those tendencies.
I imagine the people reading here are investing a lot more time researching. On FB, I think people tend to skim thru posts quicker. Hence why you observed they like identifying more with the emotional impact of the actions rather than hearing about the whole story. FB is like watching Headline News over CNN.
Very well put MLA
You mention FB from time to time on here, but I’ve never been able to find your page HG. Is there a link to it somewhere on your blog, please?
It’s called Knowing the Narcissist Hope, search for that and let me know if you find it, if not, I will send you a link.
Thank you HG, I found & liked your FB page.
Thank you Hope.
Bastard.
P.s. with all respect
I’m obliged.
It s ur free choice, dear defective person. (U r not obliged)
P.s. i understand u need it like water being in ur defective state. Ur choice is to mantain being there. Nobody oblige u..
I do have friends who need it as well (after my expetience with my ex i am doing an inventarisation 🙂 of ppl inside my circle. Some of friends i want to have further from me, those ones, accentuated with narcissistic traits.
Could u please tell, how exactly do u feel if u dont receive emotional reactions from ppl around?
How u feel? I personally cannot understand how is possible to be bored with urself.
I dont understand how is possible to feel bad staying alone. It s time for recovery and conversations with urself, so it s very useful time to put thoughts in order.very valuable time.
I dont understand why narcissists hate it, to be 1-to-1 with themselves..
If I do not get emotional reactions and my fuel runs low I become restless and then anxious as I feel weakened.
I don’t have a problem being on my own from time to time. It is not an issue if I am fuelled and I can easily spend a decent tranche of time alone, but I do not like it to be for too long. I can actually be physically alone after being fuelled for some time and if I am able to draw fuel from others (say through technology) I can continue being physically alone for a time longer.
I am never bored with myself.
May be u can just accept urself when u r weakened, ALLOW urself to be weak. Nobody oblige u to be always strong. No reason to limit urself. We are allowered to feel both of these states.
It s normal and necessery part of our life: sometimes we r strong. Sometimes we r weak. We need to feel it both. Nothing wrong with a time when u r weak. It s time for recoveting and re-tjink about life.
“If I do not get emotional reactions and my fuel runs low I become restless and then anxious as I feel weakened.”
=》 it means u have zero acceptance of urself. Because u dont accept urself when u r weak.
You literally hold the balance (and imbalance) of a person`s life, emotional health and well-being and, in many ways, physical health and well-being, in the palm of your crafty little hand.
It does give one a sense of tremendous power to watch how a word (or lack of words), a touch, the raising of an eyebrow, the touch of a hand, can affect a person.
To know that you have the power to ignite burning fires of passion and rage on the one hand, and then bring forth a flood of tears and self-doubt the next, with one simple word or action…..it`s truly an amazing thing.
I have an image in my mind of you standing there, hands on the bannister, the power coursing through every vein to the beat of your cold, steady heart. Possibly your hands gripping the bannister a little more tightly, as you feel the power coming over you in pulsating waves.