We Can Pretend


Here we are again. In that all too familiar place. I have lost count of how many times I have found myself here. Despite my very best endeavours, my valiant intentions and earnest dedication I am stood in his hallway of despair. Some time ago this hallway was a welcoming place where polished tiles gleamed and marble pillars glinted. The air was filled with the scent of jasmine, bright sunlight pouring in through the glass dome high above. So many corridors and doorways led from this hallway, offering exciting and intriguing possibilities, new experiences and enthralling opportunities. I can still picture you when you had crossed the threshold, invited into my world and you stood open-mouthed impressed and amazed by the grandeur. With a typically generous and expansive sweep of my arm I offered you the free run of those corridors and rooms. You took full advantage of my generosity and why not? You were a very welcome and special addition.

Now look at us. Your failure has made this a cold and desolate place. The dome has suffered as a consequence of you frequent eruptions of frustrated anger, the once clear panes now either broken or smeared with the grime of your betrayal. The sun has not shone into this hallway for a long time, in fact, neither of us can remember when it last did so. The tall pillars are cracked and chipped, testament to your unwarranted assaults on our person as your forked tongue of criticism lashed out at us. The tiles are fractured and uneven causing you to regularly trip and fall to the floor, the cold slap of your downfall a stark reminder of the change that has gripped this place. You can hear the low moan of the wind as it billows, wuthering and gusting, seeking entrance through the broken windows and dilapidated shutters. That is the wind isn’t it or is it the tortured protestations of the shades and spectres which still haunt this hallway? Sometimes you see them, the forlorn figures which glide haplessly along the dirty passageways, heads bowed as they seem to be seeking something. Whenever you see them you feel a strange sense of familiarity and understanding with their plight even though you are unsure who they are. No doubt a consequence of the empathic traits which still cause you to remain here.

I let you walk these beautiful corridors. I allowed you to marvel at the statues, the ornaments which adorned the walls and alcoves, mesmerising you with their beauty. You felt loved, you felt content and you felt safe as you walked this place never needing or wanting to step back through the door that you once entered all that time ago.

Now you are sat on the icy floor, your hands clasped together and raised in a gesture of contrition and pleading. Your face is etched with wounding woe and the lines of desperation evidence your determination to remain. I brandish the heavy iron key that will unlock the dark door which looms over you and which will reveal the doorway to the cold, uncaring and harsh would beyond, a world you have no desire to return to. I hold the key as I stand over you watching you and although I hear your voice I cannot discern what you are saying. You struggle to your feet, weakness pulling at you as you pull down the sleeve of the tattered garment which you wear and you begin to rub at a nearby pillar. You spit on it and frantically try to remove the grime as if you are showing me that the damage can somehow be undone. You turn and look at me, hand still moving back forth and I see that eternal optimism in your eyes. That look which once looked like paradise to me and now only serves to reinforce your selfishness in wanting to remain here after everything you have done and everything you have not done as you let me down. Again. The distortion that has surrounded your voice and now I can hear you as you are pointing to the windows and the doors which hang from their hinges, holes smashed into them.

” This place was once so beautiful and you have let it fall into neglect, why have you done this? I just do not understand. I helped you keep it shining and in a pristine condition but then you just lost interest, you would not work with me anymore and it began to fall into decline. It was too much for me to maintain alone though heaven knows I tried, I really did. Not only did you not help me but you then started to hinder me, stopping me from carrying out my tasks, holding me back and diverting me.”

Why are you saying such things to me? Why are you seeking to pin the blame on me? Why are you trying to make me responsible for the demise of this once grand place? I shake my head and point the key at you, a clear signal of my intent. Your face twists and the tears start to form in your eyes. Perhaps they might fall into the now dry fountain and bring about restoration. Does such restoration hang from your sadness?

“Don’t make me leave, please I do not want this to end,” you plead, your eyes, which once shone with delight and joy, which are now glazed as your fear of abandonment starts to rise.

“This does not have to happen, ” you continue as you place a hand against my arm, ” let me stay, I only want us to be happy, to be as we once were. Surely we can do that? Our laughter once echoed through this place and it can again. We can repair the damage, it is not about who caused it, I can put that to one side, I just want us to be together and for us to rebuild what we once had. We did it once, I know we can again, let us join forces and re-create that wonderful time once more, let us admit sunshine and clean away the dirt and the hurt that seeks to envelope this place. We can fix the glass, mend the doors, scrub the floors and clean and tidy and make good. We can do it. I know we can. I can sense it deep inside you, I know it to be the case.”

Your words are impressive and burgeoning with hope. Perhaps it can be done but then you let us down and for that you must pay the price. That momentary consideration of allying with you and recovering what we once had is dispelled. We shake our head.

“It cannot be recovered. There is no hope to do so,” we say slowly.

A tear spills down your cheek and hovers on your chin as if unsure of where to go.

“Then let us at least pretend that we walk through gilded and fragrant halls once more. Please? We can pretend can’t we?”

Yes, we can pretend. It is all we ever do.

18 thoughts on “We Can Pretend

  1. KW says:

    “It” is spoiled now. He said.

    Soulless fucker.

  2. 1jaded1 says:

    Let’s not pretend?

  3. Flighty says:

    It is fascinating how you think you’ve won, isn’t the definition of “Insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, but expecting different results”?
    Best regards in your continued endeavors.

  4. You’ve been pretending this entire time, can you not continue for the fuel I want to give you?

  5. IDGAF says:

    I pleaded with him to not break up our family……she’s only six…..can’t we wait a while……
    “Why prolong the inevitable” he replies.
    He changed the locks……discard complete….yet I’ve never been free from his torment. It’s been 13 years…..just last week he finally send me a friend request on facebook…….I did not respond. It was retracted the next morning……Ugh.

    1. 1jaded1 says:

      IDGAF…I hope you let him know that you dont give a f*ck. Ignore…and if you can’t, blankface to him.

      1. IDGAF says:

        After being divorce for over 10 years, his smear campaign came full circle…..somehow he won my family over to his side. Ha. IDGAF about any of them…..especially him, anymore. I’ve always been the scapegoat of the family and now I just feel free and liberated. They all belong together…..

        I did screenshot his attempt at sending me a friend request on facebook…..and send it to our now 19 year old daughter……ha. We had a good laugh…..I assumed he was drunk and came to his senses the next morning…..therefore his retraction of said request. All the hell I’ve been through in my life at the hands of these narcissists……I’m quite versed on how to handle their behavior, and your comment is the exact response they now receive from me…..thankfully with the help of Mr. Tudor who so graciously shares his amazing insight into the mind of a narcissist.

        A quick question for Mr. Tudor……do you think it is more common for the golden child or the scapegoat to become a narcissist based on the trauma endured in childhood…..or does that even enter into the equation. Could it just be based on ones own personality type and have no bearing on their place in the family of origin? Thanks for your time and insight. It’s greatly appreciated.

        1. HG Tudor says:

          Interesting question IDGAF. Of course there is no empirical evidence with regard to that. I would suggest that both have just as much chance of becoming a narcissist, responding in different yet similar ways in order to protect themselves from the trauma endured. I was the golden child in our family but it came with a heavy price of expectation. The scapegoat was actually my half-brother but the scapegoating was actually more about him rather than to him because he was able to escape the household when he stayed with his natural mother. There was milder scapegoating of my sister and brother but not to the extent as it was done to my half-brother. He does not appear to have suffered any consequence of it.

  6. AH OH says:

    Yes, we can pretend. I like to pretend. Can we play dress up too?

  7. Empath23 says:

    I’m sure pretending eventually becomes tiresome.
    Is it because loving you with all of our heart and soul still wasn’t enough to keep the darkness away, and now we must be punished?

  8. Cara says:

    Of course we can pretend. We’re boss at denial, best at forget.

    1. Phoenix says:

      Trauma amnesia

  9. Reblogged this on NarcMagNet69x96.

  10. Love says:

    Yay! You let her stay. There is a happy ending after all.

    1. The Punisher says:

      That’s one way to look at it.

      1. 1jaded1 says:

        This made me laugh, TP…even if it wasn’t meant to be funny.

      2. The Punisher says:

        Haha thanks jaded! It was open for interpretation.

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