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.

5 thoughts on “Try Walking In My Shoes

  1. A Victor says:

    HG Tudor says:
    September 17, 2019 at 10:19
    It is oblivion that we fear…Oblivion is no longer functioning and operating as I do.

    Tammy says:
    November 24, 2019 at 23:27
    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?
    Reply – HG Tudor says:
    December 5, 2019 at 10:45
    It is a representation of what is occurring with a narcissist each day.

    Kim e says:
    August 30, 2019 at 12:51
    HG. Is this from experience or just an illustration Do all schools of N experience this? Thanks
    Reply – HG Tudor says:
    August 30, 2019 at 17:33
    In differing forms, it is an amalgam to convey the concept.

    These are some questions I have had about this article. My ex was typically up well before me and if not, he did not get up until I had vacated the area. We spent extremely little time together in the bathroom getting ready for the day, in 23 years only a handful of times. This was even true when we went to hotels or visiting people on trips. It never crossed my mind of course that he was fueling up somehow. I’m not sure how he did since back then he had a pager, no internet or phone went into the bathroom with him. But, another thing that happened was that once he came out, he’d usually be out the door within minutes, to go somewhere, anywhere really. I think a lot of the fueling happened then and the getting ready was done in a hurry so he could get to the fueling. Something drove him and now I believe it was the creature lurking and the need to fuel to keep it at bay.

    Now that he is very ill I have wondered how he is doing it. Or if he’s sinking into oblivion, or lowering his expectations or if he’s realizing that won’t actually happen. Very interesting article.

    1. Leigh says:

      AV, maybe someone paged him “hello”. If you put in 07734 and turned it upside it would read as hello. Hi and asshole were others you could do too. If someone sent him asshole that would surely be negative fuel.

  2. Truthseeker6157 says:

    My very favourite DM song. For those who haven’t heard it, original video attached.

    “You stumble in my footsteps. Keep the same appointments I kept.”
    Something about that line grabs me every time.

  3. Sarah jibjabchat says:

    You liberate people. You have no loyalty to the lesser. So many of your kind will end up alone or with a younger woman who is so angry with how they’ve been treated they could possibly abuse them and mistreat them in their golden years. And even with people of their own age when the narc can no longer pull fuel so easily. You never speak of the final result. You never speak of what happens when the all powerful loses his looks or money or ages to the degree that no one takes them seriously. Ok you have touched on the weakness that no fuel reduces you to. I dont ever fear death, to a narc the fear must be unbearable. If a narc is cruel and over plays his devalue then to die alone must surely be not only pain from the lack of source fuel but also the realisation that they can be the tightest correcrist person on the planet i their opinion, but no one loved them enough to hold them when they died

    1. Truthseeker6157 says:

      Hey Sarah,

      If you search on ‘The deathbed narcissist’ HG created a series of articles about the narcissist at the point of death.. For now the articles concentrate on Lower Lesser, Middle Lesser and Upper Lesser type A. These articles provide valuable insight as to the differences in attitude towards death.

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