Buried Alive

BURIED ALIVE

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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19 Comments

  1. I am claustrophobic and he knew it. Would pin me down and laugh at my reaction. I trained myself to slow my breathing and go still… to play dead. I became so good at playing dead to things that I lasted 26 years. I felt the panic when I read this, felt my arms and legs pinned, and saw his grin… have now spent 3 years shoveling my way out… I can almost see the light… with much gratitude for the powerful images you paint with your words. When I get tired, I come back to this site and find the strength to keep shoveling.

    1. Just Me

      Keep returning here. There are many hands to help you shovel and you will be out in no time.

      1. Soon to Be Sparkling and Narc Angel
        I appreciate the support… there is quite a crew of freedom fighters here.

  2. Mr.HG is there somthing you can’t do? i mean, are there an extents to wich you will never go, finde it too amoral or repulsive, or is it that as long as you deem it necessary to reach your goal, you will do anything?

    1. Watch James Corden. That’s a bridge too far even for one as morally bereft and as ethically bankrupt as I.

      1. Ha Ha! it seems that your moral and ethics are not as bankrup as one may think.
        (you really made me laught , thank you !)

      2. Maybe a James Corden show with Celine Dion as a guest! I like the buried alive analogy. I would rather be buried alive than spend 15 years with a narcissist never speaking to or berating me. It’s a more pleasant and quicker demise. Dead in a week. Why am I more appalled now by allowing this than I was 3-6-9-12 months ago? I’m absolutely disgusted with myself.

          1. I’m not familiar with Depeche Mode much at all to have a kinship with HG’s style of music selectivity—they just aren’t as popular here. I do agree wholeheartedly though—that while Celine is of course a very technically correct singer— I am not a fan of her “sterile” music. She is boring to watch, not interesting (to me) and somewhat like paint drying. The great love story also annoys me.

          2. Lorelei,
            it is not her songs that bothers me the most, it doesn’t suit my taste but that it, no, what i can’t stand are her manners, she is less untertaining than my algorithmic teacher, and i’m talking about man who wears only beige cloths and the most exiting sentence you can hear comming out of his mouth is “the lesson is canceled for today”.

          3. I like Celion Dion and I would choose her gladly. She was a loyal wife, great mother and an amazing singer. There has never been anything bad about her in the tabloids . She can sing ! But not everyone likes her I cant respect that
            Hugs to all xoxoxo

          4. Lorelai:
            You’ve probably heard “Personal Jesus.” If not, you may have heard Muse’s “Uprising,” clearly influenced by “Personal Jesus.”

            “People Are People,” an early hit, rose higher in the US charts, but it’s not played much anymore. “Personal Jesus” is still played pretty regularly.

            They had other songs that charted outside the US.

        1. Lorelei
          No need to be disgusted with yourself. Try to think of it as charity. You are a good person with good intention and gave of yourself to help another until you found that charity was corrupt and your contributions were being abused. Now they’re still needy and you still have plenty to give, but you no longer donate to that charity. You now recognize, and can concentrate on better application of your resources. You should be proud – not disgusted.

          1. Thanks NA—I value your input. It’s not easy though—my charity was always directed to who didn’t deserve it as we know. Don’t get me wrong—there were many battles in the early years re, the bizarre mid-range behaviors toward my oldest daughter. I was absolutely baffled, pleading at times for understanding and reprieve. (Teasing but it was passive/confusing.., lack of affect, obvious consideration elsewhere..)
            I have photos of him beaming ear to ear with her while sledding earlier on. I logically know he wormed the behavior in toward her as he did toward me. I know I didn’t know there was zero hope.
            It doesn’t really matter though NA. I’m disgusted because the damage is immense—more than I ever considered. I’m also very guilty of ultimately knowing something didn’t feel right and losing the energy to even manage the situation. For a long time. Certainly I am aware that growing up as I did contributed to the perfect recipe for my ex. I remember thinking, “Why does he want to live this way?!” Fuck, he was in a state of bliss and I had no idea. Total control. It was heavenly for him. My issue is that I failed terribly for my children. It’s a reality that my oldest child carries substantial trauma from the psychological shenanigans. (Me too frankly but I’m not one to get too fussy over it) Yet, I’m effective in so many areas—but it’s this one—the one that counts I’m not. If I knew a year ago what I know now re, the amount of work this has been, and is I am not sure I could’ve/would’ve. I read different pieces on here re, people having been ashamed or disgusted. Stories are different but the results are similar. One big question moving forward is that if I can sink that low what possibilities are there. It is almost seemingly provocative in a way to say such a thing. I want no pity, platitudes, or “It’ll be ok’s..”. There are some major changes that need to happen if a permanent state is “to be” for “this”’to really work and to work well. Whatever “this” is. I refuse to bring any man around my children who reside in my home. I am throwing up roadblocks to these conduits because they are the streets I always travel down most comfortably. When it’s said and done though—I can’t fix what’s most broken and like your mother did in whatever way she did—it usually gets reconciled on some level for someone and it’s always the innocent one with the work to do. It won’t be me in say 20 years doing whatever work my daughter has to do to manager this.
            I have found most pursuits of revenge and anger seem to impact negatively on us—but I know that if there is ever a moment where I “can get him later” I would love to capitalize on it. Sounds like a rudimentary desire for expending energy perhaps but I would not be above or below it. Yet it’s still me who had the calamity in front of me and didn’t shut it down.

  3. HG these are the mind games of the Narcissists that make us feel this way .Emotional. abuse is worse than physical . That was a great explanation and article.

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