Try Walking In My Shoes
I always wake before you. This allows me to slip into the en suite and lock the door and deal with the horror of confronting another day without you seeing me endure this daily ritual. Already I can feel the hunger rising as I stare at my reflection. Is this what I have become? The bleary-eyed, stubbled, exhausted creature that gazes unwaveringly back at me. No, I do not recognise that thing. How old it looks. The lips are thin, the hair thinning and clumped. Its shoulders rounded and slumped in resignation. I feel refreshed from a solid night’s sleep yet whatever is looking back at me does not accord with that feeling. The fear crawls across my skin and I rub at myself trying to dislodge that cold grip but it never works. The inner dread rises as I contemplate another day at the grindstone trying to piece together what I am, that long arduous task which never gets easier. In point of fact, the task becomes more difficult with each passing month as my advancing age screams at me about my mortality. How that banshee tortures me as she howls in my ears about my waning powers. I feel the tears welling as every injustice I have ever suffered is heaped on my shoulders by an uncaring and oblivious world. Does it not see my pain or does it just not care?
My mobile phone is clutched in my hand. I rarely let it leave my side and I place it on the counter besides the sink and then grip the counter as I continue to look at my reflection. My knuckles whiten as I fight the urge to scream at how empty I feel, how bereft I am and how this is so damn unfair. I try to wrench my gaze away but I cannot. I am entranced by what I see. I do not recognise this person. Where has that shock of white come from in the hair above the left temple? That is not me. Its skin looks dry as if it has been subjected to the dehydrating suction of some foul shade that visited in the night. The horror continues to escalate and it is only the chime of my ‘phone which breaks this terrible appreciation of the thing in the mirror.
Grateful for this interruption I shift my eyes to the ‘phone and see that a message has arrived from one of my coterie of admirers, Samantha. The pilot light inside of me flares into life and there is the slightest surge as the fuel begins to flow. I should wait until I have showered but the hunger is too great already and it must be addressed. I open the text message and like a starving man being given his first meal after fasting I devour the words of admiration.
“Good morning handsome, I missed you last night, I will call you when you are at work xxx”
The flame increases in size and strength as I close the message and smile .I turn on the shower letting the stream of water heat up as I flick to the texts that Samantha sent last night whilst I sat on the settee preoccupied with my activity of flitting between her texts and a conversation I was engaging in with a new prospect on facebook. I re-read a handful of the texts from Samantha with their declarations of admiration for me and I feel my strength returning. I put the phone down and step into the shower and relish the hot embrace of the jets of water. The fear has shrunk away and the dread sensation has been pushed back down. I liberally apply the shower gel, enjoying the sophisticated scent as I use a different product on my face, scrubbing away the dead cells and then another to cleanse and wash. I turn the taps and the water stops. I reach for a thick towel and pat my face dry feeling rejuvenated. As I stood beneath the purifying water my keen mind raced whilst I formed my machinations for the day. Always plotting and always scheming. The prospective fuel that will be garnered from the new sources that I am pursuing coupled with the dose of triangulation I will involve you in is causing me to feel excited and powerful. I pick up a bath sheet and admire the toned nature of my body as I dry myself and embark on the next stage of my preparation for the day by shaving and brushing my teeth.
A little while later my phone has chimed again and this time it is a colleague wanting to arrange lunch as he wants my advice since I am an expert on a particular topic he has to present on. The flame inside rises higher now and this spurs on my delinquent mind to consider additional ways to garner that oh so precious fuel during the day. The hunt for fuel is unending. The craven hunger that rumbles inside of me cries out for it and it is my sole preoccupation. The beast inside must be fed. Yet, now I am feeling strong. I haven’t applied my after shave and already two admirers have seen fit to worship at my altar and the games have not even yet to be played. But they will. I reach for the fragrance and splash it into my cupped hands and apply it to my neck as I look to the mirror. The handsome me has returned. The piercing blue eyes shine, the tousled, shiny locks of hair await the application of some wax to style them, the unblemished skin and close shave accentuate my chiselled good looks. I flash that winning smile as another surge of power flows through me. God I look good.
I return to the bedroom, ‘phone in hand and find you have now risen and I can hear the sounds of movement in the kitchen downstairs as you prepare breakfast as you always do. You will shortly bring me a mug of fresh coffee but I think I will complain that it is not hot enough and criticise you, just to see if I can provoke a reaction from you. It should not be too hard, I know precisely what to say. I notice the bed has not been made and rather than attend to it and help you, when you pass me my coffee with a ‘Good morning’ and a smile, I will cock my head towards the dishevelled heap and tut. Ah, yes, the master of games knows his stuff. I dress as another text arrives from another friend who wants to organise a golf game and asks for help with his swing, praising my technique. He is after more than assistance with his golf since he wants me to place work with him. He will have to provide me with more fuel yet to even be considered and of course, I will send the work elsewhere since there is someone who will give me something I want in return in a sweeter form and in larger amounts than my golfing chum. Still, the disappointment on his face will no doubt provide me with a hit too.
I can hear you coming up the stairs and I decide I will take a look in the full length mirror since I am fully attired to admire how elegant I look. I dress in a manner which says to anyone who meets me that the first move is mine. I stand and give a contented nod at my statuesque reflection. I look fantastic. I start to smile and then a bolt of anguish shoots through me as the craven creature that first lurked in the bathroom mirror appears. It is only for the briefest of instances but it causes me to exhale. My expensively-dressed self returns and the relief washes over me in an amazing way. The creature has gone again. He does that though. He likes to make fleeting appearances throughout my day to remind me that I must keep finding fuel. My quest for the potent fuel must be at the forefront of my mind at all times. As if on cue, you enter the bedroom, a veritable reservoir of fuel. You greet me as I cock my head to the unmade bed and tut. I feel the rush of power as your smile evaporates and you look crestfallen. The games have begun and my day is off to a great start. I only hope that creature stays away from me.
18 thoughts on “Try Walking In My Shoes”
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Dear Mr Tudor,
Ps …
1) if Mr Bubbles coffee is not hot enough … he knows where the microwave is … 🤣
2) he knows the house is “my” domain (beds need airing) and his work has always been “his” domain ….even though I know heaps cos we worked together, but I let him think “he’s” the boss … 🤣
3) I always comment on Mr Bubbles attire before he walks out the door … it’s always positive …. I chose it 🤣
Luv Bubbles xx 😘
Hello, H. G.
Here hitting the head. I wanted you to define the monster better. I have come to the conclusion that it could be some kind of anxiety pushed to the limit?
It is well known that anxiety is eliminated with distraction or attention at another point.
I come to the correlation that if the monster were some kind of extreme anxiety. The narcissist from his earliest childhood, not knowing how to define concretely what is happening to him, I look for alternative ways to reduce his extreme anxiety, such as attention or distraction by others. And this behavior was prolonged and in ascent until the formation of the personality, adolescence, adulthood.
This would not only demonstrate that the narcissistic disorder is some “genetic” hormonal failure and that it was suffocated in some way with learned and prolonged behaviors until the formation of the personality…
And therefore, after this I can say that I AM ALREADY EMPATIC ELITE.
And after that to Oxford directly.
Dear Mr Tudor,
I feel your pain …..same same but different
Thankfully from your teachings, I now know it’s my “emotional thinking”
It’s cursed me all my life ….”overthinking”
Many a time I’ve said to Mr Bubbles “I wish my brain had an “off” switch”
The why’s, the wherefores, the how comes, the what ifs, the why dids the why cants, the what abouts
It’s cursed me all my life, particularly when my mum left me …… why oh why oh why …. it becomes obsessive
You have taught me how to “control” my emotional overthinking
I thank you
If I can control it … hopefully so can you …… it ain’t easy
We have been on a learning path for the last 3/4 years (you with the good doctors, me with you) it appears progress has been made ….. on both sides …… same same but different
Luv Bubbles xx 😘
I have HG. When I say things haunt me they haunt me.
It doesn’t matter Empath or narcissist, I feel what you feel and it changes my perspective in the moment.
Try walking in my shoes. Many here believe themselves to be Contagion…..I either consume you, you consume me or I walk alone. For an Empath it is a very lonely road when they decided to walk alone.
I get it HG every fucking morning …..
Contagion
“I either consume you, you consume me or I walk alone. For an Empath it is a very lonely road when they decided to walk alone.”
This is very true. I’ve chosen option three, but with frequent brief contacts with others – too brief for anyone to be consumed. And it’s both very lonely and very difficult.
Windstorm
Do you understand what I mean by consuming another? Or being consumed?
Contagion
I certainly think I understand. I thought it was an apt descriptor. I took it to mean the way I feel when I can’t keep my own emotions separate from those around me. Being overwhelmed or overwhelming others.
Contagion
There’s also a trap I fight sometimes where I find myself drawing in other people’s emotions to fill my own needs. That fits under “consuming.”
Well put Contagion. Up to the point of Samantha calling, I thought HG was reading my diary.
I was Cindy. You’ve an appointment next Friday at the hairdresser’s by the way, 3-30 pm.
HG, for peeking, you must pay! Please have one of your minions call my salon with your credit card number by Friday, noon.
Ha ha, no problem, it was a skinhead that you were booked in for wasn’t it?!
I am really, really starting to understand my narc now, thanks to posts like these.
I’ve seen him at times, when he’s not looking. I’ve seen the creature torturing him.
It is good to read that your understanding is increasing.
Understanding is freedom…though freedom can be scary!
Maybe being afraid of freedom is part of the problem. Perhaps that’s why a certain bondage was acceptable, if not delicious. It was actually less scary than freedom.
@. Lisk. Hello I do not mean to be rude or intrusive and if you don’t want to answer I get it. But I am very curious when you say “I have seen the creature torturing him.”
What changes do you see in him to make you think this?
Thank you.
Hello H.G Tudor
Really one of the most shocking posts I’ve ever read. For the rudeness of it.
Could you do more post about the beast, to see us in your shoes? This way we would understand more and better, not only our process. But also the process of the narcissist, the beast that you carry inside and does not let you breathe.
For some time now, some questions have been on my mind. And they are the following ones.
Could I talk to the beast face to face without masks? and if so? what would you tell us?
This question haunts my mind in relation to my narcissist.
If he would be able to take off his mask and talk to me in the open.
I am so intrigued by all this, I would love to talk to the beast behind the façade, so that he could explain to us what his problem is.
This would be a good interview.
It would trigger so many visits. UAUUUUUUUUUHHH I can not even imagine.
On the other hand, it seems to me that not only do you see the beast, because its victims are devoured by it every day, especially your IPPS. Very generous on your part, that you do not want to see it and you take it away from you, but you push it against us so that it devours and consumes the fuel of us, its victim.
Although you tell me that you are happy to be a narcissist, now that I understand a little more the language and the narcissistic subject. I see only one denial in your statement.
I’m so sorry for you, I’m so sorry for me, I’m so sorry for my narcissist, I’m so sorry for all of us, it’s all so unreal and heartbreaking.