Buried Alive

 

BURIED ALIVE-2

One of our aims when we entangle you is to cause the equivalent of you feeling as if you are being buried alive. Doing this keeps you in our grip and under our control. For some people, the thought of being buried alive causes them considerable terror. The concept of being bound and dropped into a prepared hole in the ground, lying against the cold, damp earth as the first shovel load of earth lands on you, dirt cascading over your face as you blink frantically trying to avoid it going in your eyes. A second shovel load lands, this time more compact and it hits your torso with the equivalent of a moderate punch to the ribs. You shout out but your unknown assailant does not respond as more earth cascades down on to you. You kick and wriggle but soon the earth begins to heap around you, your movements are constrained and you are trying to back up so you can keep your head as high as possible, just as you might do during our devaluation of you, trying desperately to retain some dignity. You continue to shout and scream and you begin to wonder whether you are making any sound at all as there is no response. Your legs are now covered and you are unable to move them now, the weight of the earth on them pinning them into place. Someone else has now taken control of how much you can move and they have deemed that there is to be no movement, at least from the waist down. Still that steady and rhythmic motion can just about be heard above you as the dirt continues to fall, a steady curtain of earth which is creating your tomb. The encroaching earth has moved over your chest and you look down, arms tied in front of you as you lift them up and down breaking the layer of earth for a little longer.

On it continues as more and more dirt tumbles onto you now making it seem as if the ground is swallowing you. How many times had you wished that would happen when you were on the receiving end of one our vicious tirades? You try to move your arms but the weight is too great and now the terror has taken your voice so that your once hearty yells and piercing screams are replaced by a strange strangulated rasp as the cries for help become lodged in your throat, just like the earth will do so very soon. Your pleas to be spared, your bid for clemency and begging for mercy has gone unheeded as the earth continues to rise and you shake your head from side to side, trying to fight off the onslaught. The whole of your body, save for your head, is now paralysed, trapped by the significant load of earth which has been dropped on to you. You can feel your lungs being squashed as your breathing becomes harder. You wish you were dead. A gun shot to the head, quick and instant. That would be better than this lingering, slow and crushing descent into suffocation. Sounds suddenly become muffled and you realise that the earth has now begun to cover your ears. You still twist your head but the room for movement has become even more reduced. Your eyes are shut now otherwise they would be filled with grit and crumbs of dirt. You spit and blow away the earth which lands across your mouth as just an oval of your face breaks the surface of the soil.Your terror and panic is at its zenith and then there is a cessation in the onslaught. You cannot feel anything dropping onto you any more. There is a spark of hope. Is this it? Have you been spared at the last moment? Have you perhaps been rescued, your tormentor now pinned to the ground by the timely arrival of law enforcement? Will it be only a matter of moments before the shovel tentatively digs around you to free you? You blink furiously and open your eyes hoping to see the glare of a flashlight.

Your vision sharpens into focus and you see the silhouette of somebody leaning over the edge of the pit, shovel in hand, peering down at you as if scrutinising you for the last time. You cannot make out any of their features against the darkening sky behind them as they stand and then the earthen rain begins again. You manage to muster a final scream of defiant protestation as the soil begins to gather over your face, covering your eyes, blocking your nose and sealing your mouth as a thousand thoughts flash through your mind, mixing with the terror as you wonder how long you have left?

Such a thought of being buried alive by an unknown aggressor or waking in a coffin having been mistakenly thought dead and thus buried alive, hands scrabbling at the smooth wood, yells and shouts unheard through the coffin lid and heaped earth above, causes considerable anxiety in many people. Such an imagined experience is akin to the way we treat our victims. We control them and restrict them, steadily and effectively, through the always used slice, slice, slice technique as we little by little reduce their movement, just as if we were heaping soil onto them. We create that sense of rising panic as there remains some movement but it is insufficient to escape the looming threat. Through our manipulations we keep you rooted to the spot with nowhere to escape to, nowhere to turn,just as if you are lying helpless in the bottom of a pit.

The steady and repeated accumulation of our manipulations make you feel as if you are being slowly suffocated. You cannot speak without approval or reprimand, your thoughts no longer feel your own as you are left to second guess what we want in order to try to avoid a further consequence. You close your eyes hoping it will all end and then your heart sinks as it does not. Each day you feel the air being drawn from your body, your strength sapping away, the will to fight back being diminished and stolen from you. The walls seems to close in on you, the air becoming stale and foul from you being kept indoors for so such long periods of time, prevented from seeing other people and leaving our sphere of influence. We invade your spaces, reading your messages, your e-mails and post. You have nowhere to go to in order to escape our incessant and all-consuming presence. We are like a weight on your chest, around your neck and about your heart.Your identity is steadily squeezed from you as we impress our thoughts, needs, desires and demands on you. Every day the pressure increases, just like the weight of the earth piling on your chest. You beg and plead for relief from this incessant pressure but just like the silent and unresponsive wielder of the shovel, you receive no respite from us either. The panic rises and the anxiety robs the breath from your lungs, forcing you to gasp as the panic attack takes you in its grip. You are suffocating. You cannot breathe. We are all around you, pressing against you, holding you, pressurising you, leaning on you, invading your space and driving the breath from your body. Being with us is just like being buried alive.

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All Alone

 

ALL ALONE-2

Do you ever get that feeling that something isn’t right? What was that noise you heard just now? Was it in a dream or was it real? It sounded like an engine. A deep, throaty engine that you recognise and have heard many times. You sit up in bed and see that it is nearly three in the morning. You tilt your heard and listen, ears straining for that familiar, dread sound. You hear nothing. Perhaps the engine has been killed and that vehicle is sat outside now. Am I say in the pool of darkness cast by a fence, alert and watching your house. That knotted sensation is quick to take hold of your stomach as you slowly emerge from the bed. You move carefully feeling as if the rustle of the duvet or your bare feet on the floor will make a sound that I can hear. You know it is foolish for my hearing is not that sharp, but you are placed on tenterhooks and accordingly move in the same way. You make your way to the window where the curtains are drawn. You feel like flinging them back in one sudden motion hoping to make me jump. You see an image of my face pressed against the window, devilish leer prominent and unnerving. Carefully you move the curtain a fraction and peer through the gap. Your range of vision is limited and you cannot see everything but my vehicle does not appear to be there. Am I watching those curtains which I used to gently pull apart once upon a time? Or am I prowling about the outside of your house, looking for an open window or an unlocked door? You have held your breath, not daring to breathe, your drumming heart loud and roaring in your ears and you wonder if you mistook that sound for the one of my car engine but you know what you heard. Perhaps I had just driven past? How many times have you seen an anthracite black Mercedes from the corner of your eye as you have walked to the shops, headed to a bar or emerged from work? Your heart leaps every time you see one and your eyes dart to the registration plate to ascertain whether it is my car. Of course, I might have changed cars now. You do not know for sure. You want to drive past where I live and ascertain which vehicle I drive so that you can keep an eye out for it, but you fear that I may see you doing this and derive satisfaction from your appearance. Something does not feel right. You experience this sensation often these days. The hairs on your neck stand up as you feel that you are being watched. When you are about to emerge from your office building you stand behind the glass and chrome scanning the plaza outside for any sign that I am stood there. You think you have spotted me twice but then I departed, evidently alert to your perception. Once you walked leisurely from your place of work to the car park but now you scurry, hoping not to be spotted and hoping that your car has not been tampered with. Your eyes follow the same drill. They flash over the windows to ensure they have not been smashed. You look to the windscreen wiper to see if a hate-filled note lies tucked beneath one of the blades. There have been several although they are always printed so you were never able to demonstrate they were from me (you wouldn’t be able to anyway – I have them printed on a lieutenant’s PC not my own, I am no amateur). Your eyes look over the external bodywork for signs of scratches, dents and lights smashed before you check the exhaust and tyres. You never get in without ensuring nobody is lurking in the back seat and once in you lock the doors automatically and then allow yourself to breathe.

Something does not feel right. It is the same sensation as when you walk anywhere alone. Your steps are hurried, furtive glances cast over your shoulder, alleyways scrutinised, walking by the kerb, away from gates and hedges. You cross the road when a shadowy figure walks towards you. Often you have someone accompany you but it is not always possible. You pull the curtain aside a little so your range of vision is increased. You can see all to the left of your house but nothing appears to be amiss. You look to the road but you cannot see any vehicle but then again I might be parked around the corner and now stood in the shadow of a tree watching your pale face peering out. You look to your mobile ‘phone, always charged and ready and consider calling the police, but what would you tell them? You think you heard my car engine? They have been out once this week and although they are always polite you gain the impression that the officers are beginning to think that you are hearing and seeing things. You can tell. Their polite reassurances do not entirely mask the resigned tones with which they speak. Should you call the police? It might be sensible. Even if I am watching, the arrival of a patrol car should send me slinking away and what about if I am caught lurking outside at this time? That would be good. Then again, perhaps you should wait until you have some concrete evidence, until you see me and then you should call. You do not want the police labelling you a time waster, but something does not feel right.

You shift your position so you can look to the right and silently curse a kink in the curtain as it is obscuring your view. You will need to push it aside and this will surely alert me to your presence. With trembling hand, you move the curtain and then crane forward so you can look over the garden. With experienced ease you let your eyes drift over the garden, the wall and the fence, looking for shapes that do not belong. Your eyes stop on something in the corner of the garden, where the wall and fence meet, a pool of shadow. Is there a figure there? You stare, eyes adjusting to the darkness and wait. You feel light-headed as you stare trying to see if that inky shape is me or just the imagination that these days seems to be out of control. No, you cannot see anybody. Your eyes scan the garden again from your lofty vantage point but you see nothing. What if I am underneath the window, tight against the front door and hidden from view? What if I have gone around the rear of the house? You did lock the side gate didn’t you? You cannot remember. You think you did but you have so many repeated checks before retiring at night that it has become something of a blur. All gates need to be checked, windows closed and locked with keys removed – even during summer you endure the heat rather than keep your windows open. Door handles are tested twice and twice more. French doors pulled and pushed to ensure they are secure. It is a nightly ritual but a necessary one. A friend suggested a dog but who would look after him whilst you were at work. You once felt safe here, especially when I lived here with you, but no longer and moving, in the current market is not an option. Maybe a lodger would be answer? The money would be welcome and so would the company, but this is your home and you resent being forced into these steps by my lingering presence.

Every day when you return from work you sweep the house making sure there has been no entry during the day. You look for anything that has been moved or is out of place which denotes whether a listening device or camera might have been placed in your living room or bedroom. You were pleased you changed the locks straight away when everything went wrong. You ought to have the place professionally swept. You used to wander about the house naked but no longer, you even feel uncomfortable standing in the shower, nervously glancing upwards looking for the winking red light denoting that a camera has been placed on a shelf and you are being watched. Nowhere feels safe from me now. Your sleep is fractured and this had led to you struggling to gauge whether your fears are real or imagined. There are too many withheld calls still, the empty texts from unknown numbers and strange voicemails left at work. You know I am still out there somewhere and you have no idea what I might do.

You can see nobody outside and consider whether you ought to check the rear but you really need to sleep. You lower yourself and sit on the edge of the bed, listening for something, anything. You are met by just the blanketing silence. No throbbing engine, no footsteps on the drive outside, no creeping advance up the stairs, no shattered glass, no jemmied door. You continue to look outside but nothing is moving. Maybe it was a dream? No, you definitely heard that distinctive growl of the engine but maybe it was further away or someone else with the same vehicle. That is possible isn’t it? Your breathing slows and you begin to convince yourself that it was another false alarm. Still, you have that feeling that something doesn’t feel right. You feel as if I have been near. Your eyes shoot to the wardrobe, mind suddenly filled with the thought that I am inside it, peering through the slats and amusing myself at your fearful expression. You try to shake the thought but you cannot. A sudden ball of anger forms inside of you and with a cry you jump up and fling the wardrobe doors open and drive your hands into the clothing inside, you push and pull but find only dresses and tops, suits and jumpers carefully hung up. I am not there. You close the doors and run back into bed, jumping into it, like a frightened child who has to run from door to bed so the monsters under the bed do not grab her ankles. Once in that bed, you are in a cocoon of safety. You pull the duvet over your head and lie there, curled up tight in a ball, cursing me and breathing hard.

Eventually you emerge, face warm from breathing under the duvet and you are grateful for the cold air of your room. You lie back and allow yourself to gradually uncoil, ears still listening out for a sound but there comes none. You glance at the clock and see it is now 3-15 am and you really ought to sleep. You roll on to your side and adjust the pillow, praying that slumber visits you soon. If only that feeling that something is not right would leave you.

Morning arrives and you emerge from bed bleary eyed but thankful that you have at least slept. You attend to your usual routine in the bathroom before dressing and heading down the stairs ready to prepare some breakfast. As you descend the stairs you halt as you see something is lying on the mat underneath the letterbox in the front door. It is square and plastic. It is only 7am and the post man has not yet been although you did not hear anybody put anything through the letter box. You slowly pace down the stairs as that sensation of something being wrong engulfs you. You see it is a CD case that has been deposited. That is not right. Nobody has borrowed any of your CDs. Something is definitely not right. With churning stomach and laboured breath, hammering heart and rising nausea you pick up the CD and turn it over to read the cover.

The Police: Every Breath You Take

That was one of your favourite songs wasn’t it?

Until I told you what the lyrics really meant.

7+

A Fearful Terror

 

A FEARFULTERROR.jpg

Fear comes in many forms. It has the capacity to cause dread, anxiety and nervousness. Fear is one of the most powerful tools that exists to facilitate control over somebody. Think back to when you were a small child and the things that frightened you. Many of them have a universal applicability. How many times did you cry out to your mother and father in the night because you were frightened of the “monsters under the bed” and you were terrified that once the bedroom door was closed that something would come creeping out of the wardrobe and induce utter fear throughout you? Perhaps it was the strange shapes that formed once the light was turned off with only moonlight streaming through the crack in the curtains so that the shadow thrown across the room appeared like some old crone waiting to come and take you away and eat you. How many times were you warned as a child never to speak to strangers, never to get into a car with somebody you did not know and never to accept sweets from a stranger? Do you recall how this conjured up images of smelly old men in stained raincoats who waited to abduct you and spirit you away to be locked up who knows where? Perhaps there was that house on your walk back from school which had attracted a certain reputation. It was run-down, the garden overgrown, with bushes spilling onto the path, the windows grimy and paint peeling. You were never sure whether anybody actually lived there. Some said that a witch resided there and she waited for children passing on their own before grabbing them and stuffing them in her cellar to starve to death. Others told tales on stormy afternoons which made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, about the spirits that haunted the old house. A friend would swear that he had walked past, one wet and windy evening, just as it was going dark and he saw the face of a ghostly child staring at him from an upstairs window, the child’s spectral hands knocking against the window as if requesting help. After hearing that tale you took a different route home from school so you did not have to pass this particular house anymore. If that was not possible, you would run past, head down, shouting at the top of your voice to drown out any strange sounds that might come from the trapped ghost child, as you dared not even look towards the house. Fear often stalked your childhood and resulted in sleepless nights, nightmares and a reluctance to go to bed. Do you remember being sent to bed and staring up the stairs towards the darkness wondering what was waiting for you? How you did not want to appear scared in front of your parents (especially since they had let you stay up a while longer because you were a “big boy/girl” now). You wanted to hand those words back as you hovered at the base of the stairs, the hallway colder than the living room from which you had ventured. How many times did the noise of the house settling, resulting in strange groans and creaks convince you that somebody was waiting out of sight in a doorway, their heavy booted foot resting on the squeaky floorboard, rusty axe clutched in greasy, long-nailed fingers?  Did the sight of a clown have you running to hide in the folds of your mother’s dress, that strange leering and accentuated mouth creating panic in your tiny mind? What did that eerie clown have in mind for you?

It might have been a reluctance to paddle barefooted in the sea or a river because you could not see where you were putting your feet. You felt something brush your foot, most likely seaweed, but in your mind some razor-toothed fish was about to take a bite from your ankle or a crab was about to affix a pincer to your big toe. You turned and ran hollering from the edge of the sea back to the safety of the sandy beach. There may have been a murderer’s alleyway in your town, a badly-lit passageway between two roads which was a convenient and easy short cut during the day but a night the purported preserve of lurking knife merchants and yellow-toothed stranglers who were just waiting to pounce and take your life. You stood staring down the alleyway trying to drive the rising fear from you but it just would not go and instead you opted to walk the long way around. It took twenty extra minutes but at least you got home safely.

Fear continued to stalk your life as you grew older. You might not be worried about the bogeyman anymore but he has shapeshifted into the fear that comes with finding a lump about your body and not knowing what it is. Uncertainty about the business for whom you work has you tossing and turning at night. Wondering where the next pay check will come from has you similarly fearing for the future. Walking alone along a road at night and hearing footsteps behind you still causes your heart rate to increase. A glance over your shoulder as you cross the road to the over pavement only serves to heighten your worry as a hooded figure also crosses the road. Your step quickens as your fear increases and your mind floods with images of robbery, rape or murder. When alone in the house at night the sound of a bang from downstairs has you sat bolt upright in bed. What was that noise? Did you dream it? Was it somebody breaking in? Was it something not of this world, a poltergeist perhaps hurling a book against a wall. You cannot see what caused the noise and immediately the fear forms in the pit of your stomach, your racing mind conjuring up a score of unpleasant scenarios as you debate creeping to the top of the stairs and peering down to see if you can ascertain what it was.

Fear takes hold of you and makes your reasoning faulty. It tightens around your throat stopping you from calling out and turns your legs into stone so you are figuratively petrified and unable to escape that unseen tormentor. Fear withers you, paralyses you and you will do anything at all to escape that sensation of fear. It is pervasive, damaging and controlling.

Your greatest fears always stem from the unknown. It is that which you cannot see which causes you the greatest terror. When you cannot see something you are plunged into fear, its icy grip takes hold and you crumble. The unknown and the unseen create the fear. That is why we are so devastatingly effective in our control of you. That is why we create such numbing fear in you.

4+

Ghosts

GHOSTS-3

Whether you believe in ghosts or not, we certainly behave with certain similar attributes. We appear out of thin air. It is similar to how you can never remember the beginning of a dream can you? You cannot remember quite how we appeared. We just did. We seemed to coalesce into your life with the ease of a ghost walking through a wall. We arrive and ghost into your life. In the same way as seeing a ghost, when you experience us, it is not an event that you will forget in a hurry. We sidle up to you, insert ourselves into your lives and make connection after connection with you as we feed from you. Like some wraith we attach ourselves to you and steadily begin to suck the life force from you as we gorge on the fuel that you provide.

Often we will vanish just as we arrived, without any warning or announcement and try as you might you cannot find us again. It is as if we have disappeared off the face of the earth. Naturally we chose the moment of our vanishing act without any concern for its effect on you. We slip away like a mist evaporating. Once we were everywhere, woven around you and captivating you. Much in the same way as one might be transfixed by the appearance of some spirit. You are entranced by our appearance, there is something ethereal and mysterious about us that causes you to be drawn to us and then we are gone.

We are that elusive spirit that can now not be found. You might go to the same place where we first manifested but there is no sign of us. We have left no footprint, no trace of our existence when you try and seek us out, just like our spectral cousins and then suddenly we have returned. We ghost back into your life and continuing our haunting of you. We are incessant and ever present, drifting about you as we resume our extraction of fuel. We resume our draining of your spirit, leeching it from you as our cold, dead hands take hold of you once again.

People have many theories as to what ghosts are if they indeed exist. Some suggest that where there has been a sudden explosion of emotion, a heightened experience, then an imprint has been made on the fabric of existence. This imprint appears to those who are attuned to seeing it. That imprint is seen doing the same thing over and over again. It walks the same route, passes through the same wall and then vanishes only to appear the next night in the same place. The spirit follows the same routine like a piece of video film stuck in an endless loop. Just like such a ghost we engage in the same behaviours over and over again. The same actions all designed to haunt you as we extract our fuel. The same gestures, the same actions all of which must be replayed. Some believe that a ghost is the soul of someone who has suffered eternal damnation. He or she has been denied entry to heaven or hell and instead has been consigned to walk the earth for eternity, stuck in an unceasing routine. Our endless quest for fuel finds us in such a similar position. We must make our way through life, restless and never finding peace. We move from place to place, unable to rest and be satisfied. Instead we are driven onwards, plagued by the curse of our need for fuel. Thus we must haunt others, our appearance bringing dread and fear in the same way as terror follows the appearance of a spectre.

Unable to quite fit in we are ghost at the feast. Even when we have vanished there is a lingering coldness that strikes you to your core. You still sense us, able to feel the effect of our chilling appearance. You are wary and anxious as you know we will appear once again. Quite when is a mystery but as we first arrived and as we first disappeared we will ghost into your life and continue our haunting of you. Better consult that exorcist.

5+

A Letter to the Narcissist – No. 35

A LETTER TO THE NARCISSIST -PEACEFUL'S LETTER

D***,
You know what I miss?  I miss hanging out with you watching SNL, Colbert, and hilarious movies, drinking fabulous California Cabs or intriguing French wines. Smoking some weed now and then.  I miss stimulating conversation. I miss our conversations full of wit and feeling like we really connected.   I miss hearing how gorgeous and sexy I am. I miss making fires with you in the chiminea. I miss you taking care of me. I miss R****’s joyful greeting of you. I miss your car in my driveway. I miss your presence. I miss the good ways you made me feel.  I miss your sweet texts. I don’t miss the others.

I miss the way you looked at me and how that look made me feel so, oh so secure.  I miss seeing you at my concerts. I miss you in my house, on my couch, in my kitchen, bathroom, and I miss you in my bed. I miss the Paseo house! You TOLD me that was mine! I miss you all over. I knew all along you were dishonest.

Being a super Empath, I sooooo wanted to believe in you and “our love”. I tried harder with you than my past narcs. You truly showed me the love I’m capable of.  You showed me MY LOVE. You showed me yourself early on. I think the first test was when you called to me to say you broke my Mom’s cake dish. I know now that you were testing me. You didn’t really break it. You wanted my reaction. When *odi called me to warn me while you stayed with me 17 days during storm sandy, (who I now know is a tranny…)  then you took me to NYC to a fabulous Jazz concert staying at the W.  only to phone me after you drop me home to call and scream at me for being on POF. Weren’t you? I mean, how’d you know?  And…??? Anyway, I emailed you next day… hey you’re gf called me… Hoover Hoover Hoover… back up and running… for 5 years.

In one way I thank you for showing what was missing. It’s not you. It was me. I was missing. I can’t believe I still cry over you. Truth is, I’m still crying over me. No worries.

As painful as this has been, my destination will be sublime. The day I don’t ache for you will come. When I genuinely heal my innermost wounds I will not desire you nor will you enter my thoughts. For you are my wounds.
Best,
Peaceful.
PS:  thanks for all the diamonds. enjoying selling them off

23+

Is He Alone Now?

is-heYou have been discarded or perhaps you have succeeded and escaped our grip. You cannot help still but wonder what we are doing, especially if we have discarded you. The thoughts run through your mind repeatedly. What is he doing? Is he thinking of me? Where has he been today? Why have I not heard from him? Why did he do that? What did I do wrong? A thousand and one questions which whirl around in your mind. This is always the case when you have been discarded and even when you made your escape the questions still come thick and fast because so much has not been explained or answered. Furthermore, as an empathic individual you cannot help but wonder what we are up to, what we are thinking and how we feel. It is an automatic response for someone like you and is part of the reason why you remain susceptible to a hoover. Sometimes you may be wondering how we are or how we are managing. You may hope that we are miserable and dejected by losing you. You engage in stalking our social media, driving by where we work or live, have friends ask what we are up to and you will try and contact us direct to try and establish what has happened (where there has been a discard). Whether you escaped or whether you were discarded there are several burning questions on your mind and one of those is; is he with someone else now? You do some snooping and detecting and the answer appears to be, yes, he is alone. There is no sign of a new significant other. There is no mention of a new girlfriend or partner and we have not been spotted with anybody else when we have been sighted around town. We appear to be alone. What does this mean?

          If this situation manifests with the Lesser Narcissist, one has to consider the position where there has been escape and where there has been discard. Those factors apply to two scenarios being in play. The first is the Lesser will be engaged in Bouncing. Addressing Bouncing following your escape first of all.

He will have a new primary source but he will not regard her as a girlfriend. She will in all likelihood be an inner or outer circle friend of the Lesser. This is especially likely where you have escaped. With no time available to put in place a replacement who has been cultivated, the Lesser will have erupted and then sought the nearest fuel solace. The easiest way for him to do this, rather than expend energy seducing somebody new and comparatively unknown or even unknown, would be for him to promote this secondary source into a primary. This person will be “comforting” the Lesser after his awful and terrible treatment at your hands. The Lesser however will not make it known that he as a new primary source because he will want to milk sympathy from onlookers and also use this sympathy to enable him to move to another friend who will offer him “comfort”. Very quickly he will move between these two (maybe more) appliances. One weekend the first person will be his primary source but not referred to as a girlfriend or such like. A few days later he will move to a different one. He has no issue with this. He is accountable to nobody. He has no need to announce the relationship since keeping it quiet affords him more opportunities for fuel.

In terms of Bouncing where there has been a discard, this happens where the Lesser is not completely satisfied that the primary source he was cultivating is embedded as he would like. You may well have been discarded because you failed to provide fuel and this failure is dramatic and took place before your replacement has been properly embedded. Accordingly, the Lesser will be hedging his bets by going between two potential primary sources, alternating between them until he decides which is best and which is embedded. Then he will make the announcements, but until that point he gives the appearance of being alone.

          The second scenario concerns Keeping It in the Family. This is often applicable to the Victim Narcissist. If you have escaped the Lesser, he may promote a family member to be primary source rather than promote an inner circle friend to an intimate partner. He turns to his mother or sister, wailing of his misfortune and how terribly he has been treated. He may move back to the childhood home and this is where he gains his fuel, all of the sympathetic mothering fuel. Hence he appears to have no intimate partner because there is not one. Even if there has been a discard, the Lesser may decide to Keep It in the Family by playing on his woes as he continues to cultivate quietly a prospective primary source.

With the Mid-Range when he appears to have no intimate partner and appears to be on his own, it is not the case. He will have a new intimate partner as a primary source but he does not want you to know about her. Not yet. This is applicable when there is both discard and escape. The Mid-Range, being the most passive-aggressive of the schools of narcissist may not have embedded his prospective primary source with the confidence he would prefer (especially if you escaped) and therefore lacking the raw aggression of the Lesser and the swaggering confidence of the Greater, he keeps a low profile until he is confident that there is a successful attachment. He does not want you knowing about this primary source for fear you may interfere and mess up this much needed source of fuel. It is only when he is confident that the attachment has been secured that he will engage in Relationship Bulletins and the like.

Turning to the Greater. Of all the schools of narcissism, the Greater is able to function for longer without a primary source than the Lesser or Mid-Range. This is because he has extensive secondary sources to whom he can turn. Thus his extensive social circle, loyal Lieutenants, devoted family and admirers who are jostling for position to be chosen as the new primary source will provide him with enough fuel to allow him to function. He will not be at the top of his game and would much prefer to have a primary source in place, but if you escaped and you have pushed the narcissist into Chaos Mode, he will be working to secure that primary source behind the scenes but is content to show that he “does not need anybody” in the meanwhile. Although the reality is he will be clamoring to find a new primary source, he does not want you thinking that. He will want you to think he remains aloof, self-sufficient and not making a bee-line for anybody who will have him. He can be choosier than that. He has standards. This is the appearance he wishes to project and to a degree it is true, but he cannot remain choosy for long, the demands of fuel are ever present and those secondary sources will only sustain him for so long.

          The bottom line is that a primary source is always needed by the Lesser and the Mid-Range, more or less immediately following escape or discard, because of the demands of fuel. It is only an appearance as to why the Lesser or Mid-Range seems single (save when he Keeps It in the Family). The Greater needs the primary source soon, but he can last for longer without one and will revel in demonstrating that to you by saying “I don’t need you or anybody in fact, I am my own man.” It is of course an artifice. The Greater needs his primary source just as much, he is just fortunate because of his grandiosity, magnetism and charm he has far more secondary sources to turn to.

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To Have and To Hold

 to-have-and

We marry. Sometimes we keep dangling the carrot of matrimony for the purposes of future-faking and keeping a primary source interested and working hard to keep our favour. Other times it happens quickly in that whirlwind of the narcissistic seduction for the purposes of ensuring that you are bound to us as tightly and quickly as possible so we have the comfort and satisfaction that you, as our wonderful new primary source, are firmly embedded and attached to us. A swift engagement with the wedding following hard on the heels. It is customary move of our kind to enter into a marriage. We give the appearance of being utterly devoted to you, smitten and with our love bombing and repeated protestations of love and desire it is little wonder that the victim readily says “yes” and has the engagement ring slipped on her finger and the planning for the wedding itself happens minutes later. Marriage is important to the narcissist. Not the actual institution, although we will make a great show of emphasising just how important it is, what it means to us and how we could not wait to get married. All good material for ensnaring the victim and maintaining the façade.

When that day comes, what goes through the mind of the narcissist when he or she is stood before the altar, in a registry office or atop a cliff overlooking the sea in a civil ceremony? What is the narcissist thinking about as the priest or registrar conducts the ceremony? What thoughts percolate through the mind of our kind with the guests all stood behind us, staring in rapt attention and admiration, smiles plastered across faces and the occasional tear trickling from the eye of the emotional onlooker? What are we considering as the hymns are sung, the readings are read and the service proceeds? I shall endeavour to tell you, from the perspective of a male narcissist by reference to a traditional ceremony. Bride and groom are stood side by side, excited smiles exchanged and eventually the vows are reached.

“I HG Tudor, take you Victoria Tim, to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

I chose her. I chose her above all of the others. She looks amazing but then so she should, for me. I knew she would look so beautiful and all these people gathered here will be looking at her and thinking how beautiful she looks and how lucky I am to have married her. There was no luck involved of course. I planned this and it made perfect sense to marry so she is bound to me now. I don’t mind them all looking because although they might be looking at her, I chose her, so their admiration of her, is actually admiration of me. I am looking forward to walking down the aisle with her. So many faces and all looking at us. I can barely keep still as it is now, knowing that so many hundred pairs of eyes are fixed on my back, watching us. This is brilliant. I should get married every week. The whole day is about us, but I know it is all down to me. I chose her. I drew her to me. I am the one that created this wonderful union and I get to spend the entire day basking in the glorious attention and well-wishes of the congregation and wedding guests. Even more of them will turn up for the evening reception. So many guests, but that is what comes of being so popular. I wonder if the Predecessor Primary Source, what was her name again, Wendy, that’s it, I wonder if she turned up. She accepted the invitation. Not that Victoria knows she is a former girlfriend but the pained look and frozen smile that I am expecting from Wendy will give me an extra special boost.

“to have to hold”

Oh she is mine alright and I want to make her happy because then she will make me happy. I do think I have got it right this time. Everything seems so right about her. She lies everything that I like. She is so helpful and caring, I picked very carefully after the disappointment of the others, like Wendy and so on. I should have invited some of the others actually. That would have been very entertaining to see their faces when I walked down the aisle with my beautiful wife. My wife. Mine. She belongs to me alright and this time it is going to work. I am sure I have selected the right one. I have her and I will have her time and time again. I know how to delight her and she responds magnificently to my touch. Well, to be honest, they all usually do, but this one, more so than the others. Another reason I chose her. Yes, she is mine to have and I am always going to hold on to her. I treat her well. I really do. That’s because I adore her. There are so many reasons why I do. She is clever, she is witty, she is beautiful, she looks after me, she understands what I need. I know that to be the case. This is why I chose her and this is why I married her. You don’t let someone this good wriggle free, so I will indeed have her and hold her Mr Priest, I will hold on to her very tightly indeed.

“from this day forward, for better, for worse”

There will be plenty of better because that is what she and I are about. We fit together so perfectly. My soulmate. I deserve her and she is delighted to have me as her new husband, I know because she has talked of little else since the engagement. It was quick but so what, you snooze, you lose as the saying goes. Yes, lots of better, we are so fortunate to have what we have, more than most people, but then we are not the ordinary people. I know I have elevated her, but she has accepted that with good grace and enthusiasm, just as I thought she would. She will do as she is told. I was pleased she didn’t go in for that modern rubbish of excluding her vow to honour and obey. If she had resisted that, well, there would have been a problem. I know some couples both say it to one another but I am traditionalist. I wear the trousers. Of course I will honour her, she knows that, but I do not need to say it, besides, I decide what I do, not some vows. Don’t get me wrong, I intend to stick to them, but if something happens, well, I have to do what is right for me. I am hoping she keeps giving me what I need and that day does not come, but if she does mess up, I don’t think she will, but let’s just say for the sake of discussion and argument that she does mess up, well I will ensure I have other options. I mean, she will be a grade A idiot if she does that, after all, she is getting a great deal with me, but you can’t be a fool and rule it out. Not after what I have seen with the other ones. I do think she is different so fingers-crossed we will not have to go down that route. So, yes I intend to honour her. Obey? You can fuck that sky high! I do what I want. I am the doer, not the done too. Obey? Seriously? That one is for her and believe me she had better fucking comply with it or there will serious repercussions, but hey, I am getting ahead of myself here, I know she will, that is why I chose her. It is important that she does obey me because that way we stand the best chance of happiness and success. If she obeys me, which I know she will, I will keep her happy and not have to do what I have done with the others. Still, let’s not think about that on a day such as this. I don’t have to obey. She will. That is all that matters.

“for richer,”

No problems there El Vicaro, I have wedge and so has she. That box is well and truly ticked. How much longer will this go on for? I think I will have a cheeky peek over my shoulder. That bridesmaid is rather tasty; Natasha isn’t it? Victoria’s friend from university. She is totally wanting some of me. There we are again, that little grin and the bite of the bottom lip. Oh yes. Well too bad Natasha, this isn’t your gig but if it does go tits up, not that it will, I will look you up, of that you can be assured.

“for poorer”

Not going to happen so no concerns about that. Easy to agree with that one man of the cloth. Come on, when are we getting finished, I want to show off the vintage champagne that I bought. That will impress her old man. He loves that kind of thing. There he is, proud as punch that his girl has been chosen by HG here. Let’s give him a wink. He liked that, winked back. You wouldn’t be winking at me like that if you know what I am going to be doing to your daughter tonight. Hell yeah. Must have laughed then, I am getting a sideways glance from the soon-to-be Mrs HG, give her the smile. There we go, melting straight away. Easy.

“in sickness and in health

Bollocks to that matey boy, who do you think I am? Some kind of fucking nursemaid? She gets ill she deals with it and anyway she can go and see the quacks, that’s why I pay private health insurance. Don’t expect me to be arsing around looking after her though, I have other things to get on with. Of course, it is a different proposition for me. I am in rude health, strong as an ox, fine mind and so on. I don’t get ill. Being ill is for the saps and the weaklings, but if I am hurt, I daresay with me it will be something pretty serious if it going to slow me down, then I know she will run around after me. After all, who wouldn’t. I am worth it.

“until death do us part.”

Absolutely right daddio. That’s the only way she is getting away from me, when either her or me shuffles off this mortal coil. This is for life.

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The Pursuit of Revenge

the-pursuit

I know you hate me. Your kind are filled with love and then filled with hate. There is no need to deny it. It is a normal reaction for someone like you and one which I entirely endorse and encourage. I know you will try and mask that burning anger that you feel by saying you pity me or that you have nothing but contempt for me but I can see it. Those sensational eyes of yours that once blazed with desire, passion and most of all hope, are now filled with the churning, billowing flames of hatred. Some of you will fight to contain this sensation. You fear that by giving in to this hatred that you will somehow be on a level with me. I can ease your fears in that regard. You are nowhere near my level and nor were you. I placed you far higher than me to begin with. Yes it was artificial and all part of my design but you had no complaint then did you? You did not object or demur when I thrust you skywards and planted you no that pedestal. Of course you did not. Who would? Nobody would and least of all somebody like you. Now you are on your true level, way down below me, cast onto stony ground, broken and shattered. Amazing though isn’t it how you managed to summon such an anger from somewhere. How many times had you said to your confidantes that you felt numb (yes they were reporting back to me). Yet now look at you. A seething, glowering fireball of hatred and it is all directed at me. I adore this.

You want to destroy me. I know you do. You all do. The one before you was exactly the same as the one before was and the one before her. The next one will be just the same,although I do still hold out some hope that she might just be different and somehow avoid the mistakes all those who have gone before have made. I have seen this hatred many times and your desire for revenge is strong. Of course it is. I made it this way. Everything I did as I brought you down low was programmed to cause you to eventually explode into hatred. From elation to despair, through broken to numb. Eventually the switch would be flicked and as puppet master I ignite the fire beneath you which stokes the flames of hatred. Despise me, go on, do it. Send those wicked words towards me. Tell me what a bastard I am. Keep it coming. Pull you hair, wave your fist and stamp your feet. Tell me how you are going to scratch my car. Feels good does it not? Believe me, it feels even better being on the receiving end of your bile and hate. Go on, sit with your friends and plot your revenge, I can feel you all huddled around your cauldron as you try and concoct ways at getting back at me. I feel so powerful knowing you are focussed on seeking retribution. This is what I want. I want to bask in the heat of your anger, I want to be covered in the disgust and distaste that you will spew towards me. I want you scheming, hatching and planning. By hurting you do deeply I plant inside you that overwhelming desire to get even with me. It happens every time and is all part of my master plan to ensure you, my beautiful appliance keep pouring fuel in my direction. I make you seek revenge for in doing so, your planning and ham-fisted execution of the same give me what I want. Fuel. You are blinded with your hatred so that you fail to realise you will not succeed in gaining revenge, not by shouting, spitting and scratching. Oh no, this overload of howling anger is just a banshee of fuel to me. I will twist and shift as I thwart your attempts, laughing at your pathetic efforts to try and get one over on me. This will spur you on as I lead you on yet another merry dance as I continue to take from you exactly what I need. So please, seek your revenge. You will not get it but I will be delighted seeing you try.

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The Seven Sins of the Empath’s Self Doubt

THE 7 SINS OF THEEMPATH'S SELF-DOUBT

In the beginning you are resourceful, confident and independent. Those attributes are there with no need for brazen displays but rather they exist in an understated and quiet manner. Then we arrive. The imposition of our manipulations is designed to bring life to these seven sins in order to leave you susceptible to our further machinations and control. These doubts will enable us to hoover you, draw fuel from you and maintain that connection we rely on to further our own ambitions.

  1. Is it actually my fault?

 

We will have you asking yourself and pondering whether what has happened is your fault. Did you do something to attract someone like us? Did you miss some sign which you ought to have seen and therefore it is your own failing which has caused you to be exposed to our control and abuse? We will have you analyse your behaviours as you become burdened with guilt. We are the experts in shifting the blame and through the repeated application of denial, deflection and projection, we will avoid any and all culpability for our actions, leaving them to impact on you. It must be your fault if we are so adamant that it is not our fault. The conviction by which we pin the blame on you will have you questioning yourself. It is natural for you to always reflect on your own behaviour, that is central to who you are and we know this. Add to this our incessant blame-shifting and this steady drip drip drip of the accumulation of blame will eventually take its toll and you will start to accept the blame and regard yourself at fault.

  1. Did I love him enough?

 

How many times have you been told, “You would do it if you loved me,” or “You wouldn’t do that if you actually loved me like you say you do”. You face the ultimate in supposed love through our love bombing and it sheer scale of apparent passion, affection and love would cause anything else to pale by comparison. You will always have this thrown in your face as we tell you time and time again about how much love we have shown for you, how we have loved you beyond anything else and nobody could love you any more than we do. Is it any wonder when faced with such repeated assertions and the behemoth that we are of love that you will query whether you gave enough love towards us? Perhaps we behave the way we do because we feel that we love you more than you love us? We will certainly tell you that and because you are such a devotee of love you will feel obligated to try to match what you have received. You cannot do so because the love we exhibit is smoke and mirrors, easy to conjure up, easy to say and what you understand as love takes more effort, but this will not stop you always wondering whether you do enough and whether a little more love might just be the solution that is needed to make everything perfect again. Thus, we keep you hanging on and trying all the harder.

  1. Was I wrong to leave?

 

This nagging doubt has to be created by us on order to keep alive the prospect of hoovering you. We know that you possess a near indefatigable spirit that causes you to stay and try to make things rights. So often it us that brings about the cessation (albeit temporary) of our relationship and we discard you. On the rare occasion where you decide that you have had enough and make a break for the border, to free yourself of our poisonous influence, we know that you will have reservations about doing so. You do not like to give up on people. You like to succeed. You desire for success is not the same as our self-centred drive for achievement but rather your success sf for other people and we know this. We know that you want to achieve resolution, that is why we lead you around the houses and up the garden path with our circular arguments. We know that you prefer to achieve an outcome, hence why we never fully answer questions, deflect and deny. This desire for a conclusion means that should you ever walk away from us we know you will be plagued by some guilt that you should not have done it. What if he could have been helped? What if he could change? What if he needed your help? Such doubts will manifest and mean that when we loom large as we seek to hoover you, this desire to leave nothing hanging (along with a host of other manipulative methods designed to get you to return) will leave you susceptible to being hoovered back into our twisted world.

  1. Should I have given him another chance?

 

Maybe if you had given us another chance (to add to the dozen or so that you have already given us) then the outcome might have been different? You invested so much and you gave us so many chances, perhaps you have cut loose too soon? Maybe one more chance was all that was required and now you are left wondering if you have made a mistake and lost the opportunity to help us and resolve our problems. Perhaps you had better try again and give that further chance? It would be such a shame not to do so, especially after all the effort you have put in? This might have been the point at which everything clicked and we finally made the changes and gained the understanding and insight that is required to return to a permanent golden period. You want to see good happen, we know this and therefore we know that you have that nagging itch that if you just gave us another chance this might be the one that is required to get us past the post. It won’t be, but we like to engender this hope in your mind so that you succumb to this doubt and return to us to try again. And again. And again.

  1. What if someone else makes him happy?

 

Have I been too hasty in making my escape? What if he finds someone else and she makes him happy? It shows it can be done and I let him go and now someone else is going to get the benefit of that wonderful golden period and she might get it all the time. Why should she get this when you have endured both the black with the golden? You are entitled to receive the golden period again surely? Perhaps it was something you had done and now she knows what to avoid because he will tell her what you did in the relationship and she will avoid making your mistake and reap the reward. How is that fair? Why should she benefit from the pain you have endured? It is your golden period and you want it back because it felt so wonderful. In fact, having checked his Facebook page for the sixth time today there seems to be a lot of mutual liking of one another’s posts between him and some new lady, whoever she is. What’s going on there? Has he found someone new already? Could she be the one? You had better act and do so quickly to avoid someone else getting the golden period for good. Why not ring him and arrange to meet up? Head her off at the pass? Yes, we instil such doubts in your mind in order to have you come back to us once more.

  1. Maybe I didn’t help him as much as I could have

 

There was something clearly wrong with him but maybe he could not help doing all those things. Perhaps something terrible once happened to him and this is why he behaves in such an abhorrent manner? Surely you should show some compassion and understanding in order to help him be free of whatever demons that plague him, after all, are you not a kind and considerate person. This is what you do isn’t it? Help people. You should not run out on him now, he needs you and you are the only one who can save him. Just be understanding, help him, give him what he needs and then together you can overcome whatever it is that has taken hold of him. You have seen him bleed, he is human just like you and it is help that he needs not condemnation. Yes, what he did to you was terrible but what if that could not be helped, what if he was trying to ask for your help and did not know how to ask for it? Now you have walked away from him, right when it is his hour of need. That’s not very empathic is it? That isn’t who you are. You are kind and caring, a healer. Go back and apologise and help him. Submit to his demands and help him walk through his personal hell, surely it is the least you can do, yes?

  1. Did I deserve it?

 

You spoke out of turn too many times so what did you expect him to do? He is a proud man and it was inevitable he would lash out. If you had not been so weak, you would have not annoyed him. Perhaps if you had done more of what he wanted, gone along with his demands just for the sake of quiet, things would have been drastically different? If you had not been so stubborn or had tried to change him? If you had not tried to mother him? If you had tried to mother him? If you had been someone else? If you had stayed true to yourself? If you had been more like his mother? Less like his mother? More like her? Less like her? You did try but somehow you always seemed to rile him and then the insults and assaults would fly. Maybe if you had kept a civil tongue in your mouth it would have turned out differently? Perhaps if you had tried to look at things from his perspective more often rather than thinking about yourself, then the outcome would have been better? You wish you were stronger and you needed to be stronger for both you and him, but you weren’t and that must the reason he treated you the way he did. Your weakness irritated him. Maybe if you had not been so pathetic then he would have continued to love you like he once did. Perhaps if you had not fought back when he was despondent he would not have felt the need to put you in your place. Maybe you just did not do enough of what he needed because you were too busy focussing on how you felt and that is why it all came tumbling down? Maybe you failed to understand him because you were too wrapped up in yourself? Maybe, just maybe, you got what you deserved?

 

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