I Remember

i-remember 

The chime of my ‘phone alerted me to the arrival of a text. There was nothing unusual in that. Scores arrive daily and this rises to beyond a hundred and more when the glorious seduction has commenced of a fresh, prime target. I looked over with half-interest to my ‘phone and see a name which attracted a greater level of interest. It is from Jane. An ex. One of the many exes. I stopped what I was doing and reached for my ‘phone and opened up the message.

“It would be 2 years today x”

A flame rose inside of me at this sudden provision of fuel. Even better it was unsolicited. Goodness me, would it have been two years? How time flies. The power flowed, generated by this welcome dollop of fuel. Dear Jane, always the one for remembering dates. She sent me a card and a gift to mark 1 month together. She pole-danced for me to commemorate one month since we first had sex (no the pole-dance and the card and gift were on different dates, just in case you were wondering. I am a gentleman after all). She sent a card to remind me that is was three months since our first kiss, a month since I first stayed overnight at her house, six months since we first set eyes on another. I used to call her the Chronicler for her ability to remember the anniversary of certain key moments in our relationship. At first I was suitable impressed by her memory and power of recall but then I realised that she had assistance. On one particular occasion I was having a good look around her house whilst she was out, opening draws, cupboards and so on in order to learn more about this enticing individual who I had seduced and in the process of this trawl I found a diary. At the rear she had a list of key moments in our relationship with the date written next to it. First date, first kiss, first time we had sex, first time pet name was used, first weekend away, first “I love you” and so on. Each milestone, from the trivial to the fundamental had been carefully written in her neat hand-writing (she always wrote with a Mont Blanc fountain pen – something which I liked until I decided to bend the nib one day after she accused me of forgetting her mother’s birthday. I didn’t forget. I deliberately did not remember). Each moment, each occasion had been carefully committed to the rear of this diary and beside it the date inserted as well. I was impressed and as I sat reading it, I felt the fuel of her dedication and admiration pouring over me. She was not there to do it but I knew from reading those neat entries just how much we meant to her, just how important I was and the fuel flowed. I remember sitting on her bed clasping the leather bound diary and realising that Jane was meeting my expectations and that I had such high hopes for her. The reminders and commemorations kept coming. She never forgot anything. Naturally the more traditional anniversaries – birthdays, Christmas and so forth were addressed and not only for me, but close friends, family and even Matrinarc.

Of course this slavish devotion to the recollection of events could not go unused by me. When she fell from grace and her denigration and devaluation began I would always send her a reminder written in black ink (using a superior Mont Blanc fountain pen) on a crisp piece of thick white paper inserted into a stylish small envelope. I would leave these reminders on her pillow, on her car seat, under her windscreen wiper, in her bag, on her laptop and so forth.

–         1 week since I last spoke to you –

–         2 months since our first argument –

–         5 days since I rang you –

–         A month since we last made love –

–         A week since the last silent treatment –

–         Three months since I took you anywhere

I have no idea if the timing was entirely correct with some of them, it was the effects I was after. Sometimes she would telephone me and question why I had one this. If it was during a silent treatment I said nothing but listened, allowing her strained tones to fuel me. Other times I would just stare at her and then snarl an insult, causing her to jump and her fearful look would naturally provide me with further fuel. On other occasions she did not manage to contact me but it did not matter because I knew how she would be responding as I used the very thing she liked to engage as an endearing gesture from her to me in our relationship, against her. We like to take the wonderful and then batter it, rust it, twist it and warp it so it resembles something else entirely and this act of defiling is powerful indeed in its effect.

Soon I accelerated their use at one stage having them delivered through her door on a daily basis.

–         One day since I realised I hate you –

–         Two days since I realised I hate you –

–         Three days since I realised I hate you –

–         Four days since I realised I hate you –

–         Five days since I realised I hate you

–         Six days since I realised I hate you –

–         Seven days since I realised I hate you –

–         Eight days since I realised I hate you –

–         Nine days since I realised I hate you –

–         Ten days since I realised I hate you –

–         I don’t hate you. I love you –

That last note was a highly effective respite hoover which had her call me straight away and I answered straight away and her sobbed relief poured over me with such potency, marvellous fuel that it was. Once again by using the very tool she deployed in our relationship I was able to bend it and her to my will.

Eventually she was cast aside, the new prospect of Andrea having come into my sights and dear Jane was removed, not even afforded the courtesy of being a memory. That is until that text message arrived.

A foolish move on her part to reach out to me in this way but having received the text, I knew that it was inevitable she would have done it and indeed I know that when it is 3 years, 5 years or 10 years she will keep sending these reminders. Her memory had been conditioned this way. Notwithstanding the pain it will invariably cause her she wanted me to know that she remembered still. The addition of a single ‘x’ was the green light which told me that my follow-up hoover (of course there would be one) will succeed and she would respond to it. Dangerous to apply those kisses. She had entered my sphere of influence. I did not want her back, I was busy with Andrea and that seduction, but this reminder told me that there was fuel just waiting to be collected. All I had to decide was how I was going to go about. There was no need to be malign about it, a benign follow-up hoover would work but in what form and for how long? That was what then occupied my mind as once again I remembered dear Jane and her delicious fuel. So good of her to remind me.

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17 thoughts on “I Remember”

  1. This world could not handle more then one of you HG, so much contained in one body.
    To submit to you, kneel in front of you and look up. To see you, one that can cause such joy and such pain.

    Dark and dangerous, yet a way to salvation.
    I sit here and marvel at one such as you, you brought me through troubling times, with words of wisdom. Even thou you are dark as the deepest cave, you shine brighter then any star.

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  2. I find all this remembering the “firsts” sappy. I hope you do not find this personally insulting, but I must roll my eyes.

    My ex-husband had to remind me it was out the first-year anniversary after he called about making plans for a wonderful dinner with friends. I remember it well as I was shopping to make hs favorite foods, as I did as his wife. I was not focusing on what he was trying to say to me. I then expressed my love and said I was sorry I forgot, but in my mind, I was showing my devotion and care by shopping to cook his favorite food. It was a pivotal moment in my life recognizing my psyche. To me is was about the constant and steady of showing my concern everyday.

    My family knows that all days are to be celebrated. Now that my sons are adults, Santa has left the building and will not return until they come with babies. I do for my loved ones all year.

    I only remember birthdays of very few people. I do not celebrate mine anymore.

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  3. I didn’t like this story when I read it before and I still don’t like it.
    Lots of “I hate you’s” for poor Jane.
    Does she still contact you?

    Thanks for the reminder of how dangerous it is to reach out to you for any reason and to stay out of your spheres.
    Snow White Xx🍎

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  4. My narc made me lose all faith in humanity, and the ability to trust. But the one thing he *never* achieved was my compliance with his emotional abuse. I knew my truth and I never abandoned my point of view. Because nonsense is nonsense, no matter how often he repeated nonsense! There comes a time when you realise that he does not see you as his equal, he is not interested in resolving an issue, finding common ground for a compromise. That is when you stop trying, you stop crying, and the rage within takes over. I had no words for what was going on, but I knew if I gave in I would lose my self. I not only refused to accept his nonsense, I would also hold up the proverbial mirror, asking him “what does it say about you that you have to do X/say Y?” in the middle of an argument. He lost his train of thought, and started raging. Bingo! Got ya! And needless to say, we both knew what his words and actions meant: that he was a middle-aged man with the mindset of an entitled three-year-old little brat! And I did not even have to say it out loud.

    If he had written anything similar to the statements mentioned above, I probably would have replied with notes like these:
    “Three days since you last threw yourself on the floor screaming because you did not get the toy.”
    “One week since you last sulked in the corner because I said ‘no’ to letting you play with matches.”
    “Five days since you last sat in your high chair, throwing your lunch across the dining room because… you did not even know yourself why”

    How is that? 🙂

    My time with him was a waste on so many levels. I kept the most hurtful mails to remind me of his true, pathetic, insecure little self, to read when I miss him. I weep when I read them. I mourn the loss of my old, my pre-narc self. I witness how she lost hope bit by bit, but also how brave she was fighting the unknown. Now, that I have a word for every petty little thing they say or do, and I know why they behave the way they do, I stand a very good chance of living a happier, narc-free life. Amen.

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    1. Hello Matilda, you did well to hold on to your truth amidst the storm of lies, warped facts and propaganda, many are unable to do so. You are certainly seizing the power with what you have written. If you had responded with such reminders as you have detailed, you would have ignited his fury, there is no doubt about that and I suspect he would have erupted at you, got no fuel and therefore would have to withdraw.

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      1. Hi HG,
        yes, indeed, I feel emotionally stronger than ever, better equipped dealing with narcs. Mine was upper Mid-range bordering on Greater, not malignant and calculating enough to be a Greater, highly somatic as well as cerebral, electrifying mixture. In my rage, I knew where to verbally strike so that it hurt. Not because I enjoyed it, but because I wanted to make him see what it feels like to be at the receiving end of abuse. He might have gotten some negative fuel from that, but I did not care. The aim was not to let him leave the battlefield unscathed. This probably could have gone on forever, but it certainly was not the way I wanted to spend my life. Life is not about arguing every day, it’s about living in peace with mutual love and respect.

        After several hoovers – when will we ever learn, hm? – I finally said Farewell. I knew it was for good because it felt different. I did not rage, I still felt love but in a detached way. I cried when I wrote that letter yet I was finally at peace with the fact that there was no future with him. Love is one of the greatest life forces, but it does not conquer all.

        Once he was gone, I looked around and realised that I was surrounded by his kind. It felt as if I had just discovered a parallel universe. The blinders are off and you see situations and people as they truly are – the opportunistic deceit, the backhanded compliments, the self-congratulatory smirks. No more excuses for their behaviours, no more second chances, just acknowledgement of what is going on right in front of your eyes. That’s when I decided that my life needed a deep clean. It’s therapeutic and very liberating to delete phone contacts and Facebook friends, to tear up the address book, and to stop caring for those who have never bothered to return your gestures of affection. No Christmas cards for them this year, and I do not even feel guilty about it! That’s how far I have come in the art of not giving a f. 🙂

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    1. Oakorwillow, that suggests you actually do care a bit, because you are saying you could care less than you are currently caring. I think you mean I couldn’t care less, but it is interesting how often people write ‘i could care less’ when they mean ‘i couldn’t care less’, it seems to creep in quite a bit.

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