Knowing the Narcissist: Eyes Wide Shut
Will you ever recognise me as I walk towards you, rictus grin fixed across my face, eyes ablaze with love, passion and desire? Will you notice the way I keep you in my sights as my charm flows over you, seeping into your every pore and orifice?
Will you take heed of the sugar-coated words as they spill from my mouth, telling you so remarkably all the things that you want to hear? Will you take note of the phrases which have been recycled again and again and possess the novelty of a cliché? Will you look deep into my eyes and see past your reflection or will you remain transfixed by what shines in these dulled, dark eyes?
Will you question how is it that I know so much about you, where you live, where you work, your hobbies and your hates? Will you feel the chill down your spine as I appear once again without warning at a location you frequent or will you regard it as the tingling sensation of excitement and the thrill of my alluring personality?
Will you question the platitudes that I issue, like confetti sprinkled on the breeze or will you smile and nod and savour the warmth that rises within you as I tell you how wonderful you are and that we belong together?
Will you frown at my declaration of love within a day and a night and a day of meeting you or will you accept and swallow those carefully crafted words without a moment’s consideration? Will you wonder how my hands and mouth became so skilled or will you submit to their heady application and give breathless thanks that they are laid upon you?
Will you query how this golden light continues to shine and wonder why you were chosen above all the others? Will you see through the veneer of scathing hatred for those who have gone before you or will you become co-conspirator and sneer at her or at him, disgusted by their lack of dignity in the way that they behave?
Will you not ask yourself whether their words ring with truth and why they look as if their very essence has been sucked from them, leaving naught but a fractured shell? Will you wonder why the gifts keep on coming? Will you question the forbidden fruits that have been laid before you or will you gorge on them, delirious with desire and elated by the ecstasy of our largesse?
Will you recognise me when I turn my face from you when you try to kiss me? Will you know what is happening when you are left in a tearful heap on the floor for the third time in a week or will you flagellate yourself for your shortcomings? Will you notice as the triangles are weaved around you and your best friend becomes your supposed enemy, but by whose say so?
Will you fight back against the control that is exerted on the way you look, what you choose to do and who you interact with or will you accept it and allow your sense of self to evaporate? Will you understand what is happening to you as you crawl alone into that ice-cold bed, this once haven of sexual congress that now lies like an empty tomb ? Will you realise what is going on as you blink back tears as the clock shows 3am and you have no idea where I am?
Will you stand up for yourself when you are labelled whore, slattern, idiot and fool or will you bow your head and retreat, thankful that your injuries are only verbal. This time. Will you remember what you once were ? Will you remain bound by the chains of confusion or will you break them across your knee and free yourself from your cruel bondage?
Will you recognise me as my hand grips your throat and my bile-infused words rain down on you, spittle flecked hatred peppering your face? Will you dial my number for the fiftieth time in two hours as you desperately try to hear my voice and ask me, beg me, plead for me to come home?
Will you wince as another dinner set falls prey to my savage fury ? Will you kneel and pick up the pieces, fingers shaking as you fumble for the broken shards that lie scattered across the floor? Will you know what is being systematically done to you each and every day or will you obscure the reality by praying for that golden light to come back and dispel the darkness?
Will you recognise me for what I truly am or will you make yet another excuse, wondering what will happen when you run dry of the excuses and hastily constructed explanations for my reign of terror?
Will you recognise me as I cast you aside, shoved into the dirt and sneered at? Will you look up from the smouldering ruins of what we once had and see her (or is it you?) looking back at you with disdain writ large across her made-up features? She seems so familiar, do you know her, there is such a fog now and it clouds so much.
Will you understand why you have been forgotten about as your numbed fingers compose another searching e-mail, asking for explanations that will not come, expressing tearful anger that will be smiled at, detailing your abject hurt which will only ever receive a dismissive shrug?
Will you recognise me for what I am when I reach out a hand and lift you from your broken existence? Will you know what truly is going to happen as I lead you once more towards the brilliant, burning golden light?
Will you feel the prick of caution in your mind or will you gladly race towards the promised land once again, concern and hesitation thrown to one side?
Will you notice the rictus grin once again as you race ahead of me?
Will you pay attention to the darkened glint in my baleful gaze or will you charge headlong towards the paradise, addicted to its warmth and glorious sensations?
Will you recognise me as I close the door behind us, bolt it and turn the heavy iron key in the lock as the thick drapes are pulled across the dirt-smeared windows?
Will you notice the sharpened dagger that I have produced and hold behind my back?
Will you stop and glance in the shattered mirror that dominates this place and if you do, will you recognise yourself?
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I read an article during the week where a writer decided to take up the suggestion of her editor and follow the path of Carrie Bradshaw (Sex and the City – And Just Like That) by travelling the path to closure and friendship by meeting up with her ex.
All did not go to plan. Surprisingly (not).
Perhaps that is because her ex is likely a narcissist (though she doesn’t say that)
The article was both comedic and sad in equal parts, and the beauty of the article is that it shares his perspective after she has shared hers. What an eye opener! A classic case of “eyes wide shut” that surfaces on the day of their wedding.
“We got married in 2002 at Babington House private members’ club in Somerset. I paid for everything: for the hire, the champagne, the cake, the flowers and, oh yes, the wedding bands, as well as his made-to-measure suit.
It was an awful day: he only sat next to me for the starter. By the main course he had disappeared to be with his mates and I didn’t see him until breakfast. I knew it was a mistake, but it was done.”
Later we hear about the proposal:
“I bring up the fact he did propose, though he has denied it in print: ‘I want to be tied to you, Chubby,’ were his exact words. (I’m a recovering anorexic; he thought the nickname funny.)
‘I never proposed!’ And just like that, he crosses a line. He tells me all my friends hate me, and my family hates me.”
She tries to retrieve her sense of dignity:
“I tell him I’m still in touch with ‘H’, who cleaned my house in London for 11 years. She has cancer and I’ve been helping with vet bills. Did you ever help a fellow working-class immigrant?
‘She was the cleaner,’ he says.
Wow. There is zero self-awareness. No filter. He doesn’t take the blame for anything. When I ask if he’s sorry he cheated, he says: ‘I’m utterly unrepentant.’”
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-12256443/Can-meeting-15-years-finally-bring-closure-toxic-divorce.html
This guy is one for the books and this article of HG’s sums him up well:
“Will you recognise me as I cast you aside, shoved into the dirt and sneered at? Will you look up from the smouldering ruins of what we once had and see her (or is it you?) looking back at you with disdain writ large across her made-up features? She seems so familiar, do you know her, there is such a fog now and it clouds so much.
Will you understand why you have been forgotten about as your numbed fingers compose another searching e-mail, asking for explanations that will not come, expressing tearful anger that will be smiled at, detailing your abject hurt which will only ever receive a dismissive shrug?”
Poor lady didn’t stand a chance, and won’t be the only one who has felt like the dirt on the bottom of the narcissist’s shoe. I wish her well. I wish him hell.