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.
17 thoughts on “Try Walking In My Shoes”
It’s just a different perspective, in my opinion. I know I never look at myself in the mirror and wait for a text. But honestly we are all vain especially as we age. I never knew what vain was until I had cancer and shaved my head bald.
Yay childhood emotional abuse. I often say I WISH I had just been physically abused as a kid, because the scars of emotional abuse run core-deep. Sometimes I’m overcome with an urge to rip my own head open, just to escape the hell inside my head. Indeed, the only true escape will be in death, and that’s the scary part.
Some of us have learned to cope much better than others. I tip my hat to you with envy, H.G.
I feel sorry for your kind since I get up in the morning, take a look in the mirror and I’m satisfied with the person I see. Not thinking Wow, you look gorgeous! but it is a deep and save feeling, that I am right the way I am.
I wish I could tell my Narc, that I feel sorry for him having those destroying feelings, but he wouldn’t let me. I know. 😥
FeelingFree, I know the feeling.. it’s unfortunate as most won’t listen, and those that do will most likely use it against their victims for further manipulations.
Ah I feel sorry for you HG… it reminds me of depression… and the actions that follow is the coping mechanism..
Yes, I can see why unaware narcissists believe that they are suffering from depression or other people mistake their symptoms for depression. It definitely can appear that way.
My ex, who I thought was narcissistic and now I think he is a narc, would speak of a demon which he said was inside of him. He was good at illustration so when he was a teenager he used to draw this “demon” that haunted him
Witch, good point. Wow sounds pretty crazy about your ex. Glad you got away from him 🙂
I think I’ll pass this time.
This sounds exhausting. I’m curious if this is a typical day during a golden period or is this more likely once the initial flames cool down?
It is a representation of what is occurring with a narcissist each day.
This is exactly what we should keep in mind before engaging into circular discussions and accusations here. Try walking in other people’s shoes. I guess that’s called empathy. Conclusion: we all need more Depeche Mode in our lives.
True, always a good idea to enjoy the silence
And to try walking in anyone’s shoes! But yes I unsubscribed from a certain thread to enjoy the silence …
SP ,i agree with you on that one . You need to understand there point of view. I do realize that its not my Narcs fault. I am not making excuses for him,but his parents never showed him love. I really do feel sorry for him. He found me and knew that I am a loving person and to substitute what he went through .
I dont know I am just speculating.
You don’t get silence today—that would be a passive aggressive machination and is in the book Manipulated. I think it is anyway.
After watching “The Chaperone,” based on Louise Brooks’ trip to NYC to study with Denishawn, I looked for footage of her dancing. Someone has synched footage from Pandora’s Box to Depeche Mode.
Sweetest—it’s a really good article and begs me to think there is simply a different way we get needs met. But what is it precisely and how does our need acquisition differ? From an outside observer the narcissist appears similar of course. They have learned to go through the motions yet have a different emotional palate. It’s partially why this concept is so hard to grasp for people and me included. **They look the same, the behavior is authentic in appearance. But what is seen is coming from a different place. It was a steady trickle to get beyond disbelief re, my father. The man handed money out (just a particular occasion I recall) charitably and would have tears in his eyes. He appeared like humble Joe helping people out. He was seeking to garnish his day with fuel. It really has been hard to sink in over time because my view of his negative behaviors was naturally diminished by the view of how wonderful he often appeared. He was walking in a different pair of shoes for certain. It helps to attribute this sentiment to my ex spouse. He functions differently and I simply got caught in his tornado. He is a deeply disordered individual so his behaviors can not logically be upsetting to me as he simply is what he is. If I hadn’t learned about narcissism I’d still be on the periphery of the tornado and constantly pissed off.