Knowing the Narcissist : What Goes On Below
“Do that again and you will regret it.”
Those are the words which I will speak in about five minutes, but I am getting ahead of myself.
Welcome to my court. Here I am, sat at my rightful place at the head of the table. Prominent, elevated and overseer of those that have been magnanimously invited to look upon me and bask in their admiration of my glory. I sit, fork in one hand and knife in the other. There is food on my plate but I pay it no regard as I did not prepare it. Instead I am smiling. That rich, bountiful smile of the generous ruler that I am as I allow my subjects to draw close to me and experience a fragment of what it is like to be as brilliant as me. I know I am brilliant because right now the flames of power are high and bright inside of me.
They are strong, they are intense and the power they imbue is washing back and forth over me, causing this rictus grin to become affixed to my face. I could not remove this smile even if I wanted to because it has been plastered there by the power that is coursing through me.
This power is edifying and invigorating, twisting flames which dart and climb inside of me so that I feel as if I am taking off. I have to fight to remain in my seat as I want to leap onto the table, booted feet scattering plates and glasses as I allow this power to overwhelm me and I surge towards a higher place and thus empowered I will speak to those assembled and dazzle them.
My mind races, thoughts fighting with one another. I see the smiling faces, the open mouths denoting laughter, I can hear the delight and amusement that I have caused amongst my dinner guests. I did that. I had all eyes on me, those eyes widening with interest and adoration as I regaled my anecdote to the guests. Each focused pair of eyes, the expressions of concentration, the rapt attention that was flowing my way, the mouths closed, set silent not daring to nor needing to interrupt me, all demonstrated that I was the sole attraction here.
As my own eyes looked from face to face, never truly distinguishing who each person was, I drank in the fuel. It was not the recognition of who those people are but rather the emotions that I could see, hear and sense. Each look of admiration, each closed mouth which told me that the floor was mine and they had no need to interrupt as they wanted to listen, from each of the people sat around the table caused fuel to flow towards me, just as I wanted. Here, in my court, sat in my throne, I am surrounded by my lieutenants and members of my coterie.
These inner circle individuals who are supportive, respectful and loyal to me because they know how fortunate they are to be associated with me. Their laughter, delight and admiration flows around the room, like fuel in a tank and I want it all. How wonderful this power is, how it enables me to shine and dazzle so I receive even more of this precious resource. I nod slowly in recognition, almost able to see the pipelines which lead from each guest to me. I can picture the golden, sparkling fuel as it is pumped towards me, ready to feed those flames of power and then I see it.
Your pipeline is empty. Nothing flows along it. That is when I see that you are not laughing, you are not even smiling at my entertaining recollection. Instead, your stare ahead showing nothing as I delivered the flourish of the conclusion to my tale.
In that instant the flames become doused. They are snuffed out and suddenly the power that they created is starting to ebb and I can feel myself falling, sinking and then that sensation of unease begins to spread, from the centre of my chest and radiating outwards. You are sat there seemingly unmoved by my anecdote but not only that you have chosen to signal to me that it did not entertain you, but it meant nothing to you. I can feel the wound caused by your bored look. It pains me, evidence of the criticism which you have sent my way, unjustified and unwarranted.
Then it happens. I feel the ignition as the fury has a spark set to it. The rage begins to climb inside of me. I can feel its effect trying to twist my face into a snarl but I have to control it. Important members of my façade are here, it would not do to explode as I feel like I must do so and let you know what you have done to me.
I want to pick up this crystal glass and hurl it from my end of the table to your end so it strikes you on the forehead and knocks you from your seat. I want to smash a plate over your head but I must control these manifestations of the rage that is rising inside of me. I know I can. I have done it many times before. Thankfully nobody else has seen your treacherous behaviour and I manage to shift my blackening gaze from you to the lady to my left and she is continuing to smile. Yes, smile for me Helen, smile, yes, good.
“That was hilarious, I love your stories,” she remarks as she cuts at the meat on her plate.
I feel power returning from this fuel she has provided for me. Thank you Helen, thank you, I knew I could rely on you. Yes, and you as well Tom, good, sweet Tom who never fails to laugh at everything I say and is still doing so. I can feel the rage being beaten back by this additional fuel which continues to fuel. I blink twice, caught between the receding fury and the gathering power from the fuel.
I can sense the relief as the power begins to wash over me again as I avoid looking at you and keep drinking in the fuel from my friends, my good, kind and loyal friends. They know what to do. They would not betray me, not like you. I am beginning to wonder why I even bother with you now. It is not as if you contribute much over dinner anyway. I would have thought that you would have realised that it is your role to support me and allow me to shine, but you seem not to want to do that do you? I don’t know why. It is not as if I have not been kind to you, too kind maybe, perhaps you need reminding of why you exist? Yes, a prompt reminder is called for.
I would cut you down right now with a scything comment but that might fracture the façade. After all, nobody saw what you did and I am not so stupid as to do something which damages everybody’s favourable impression of me. No, my acidic tongue, although itching to lash out at you, for the fury is still there, albeit diminishing, will stay still in my mouth at this dinner table. I continue to drink in the fuel, feeling powerful, emboldened and engorged. I can tell Helen is interested in me and why not? Perhaps a promotion is on the cards for her, moving her from inner circle friends to intimate partner and installation as primary source. She would relish the opportunity. I have no doubt about that.
I am forced to put consideration of a personnel change to one side as I see you leave the table and head towards the kitchen. Here is my chance.
“Excuse me ladies and gentlemen,” I smile again as I stand. All eyes swing my way again, expectation dancing in them.
“I have some more wine for you.”
There is a cheer and the fuel flows further for me at this delighted reaction to my largesse. The flames are climbing now as I leave the table and the chatter of the guests behind and enter the kitchen where you are about to pick up the tiered cake that you have created for pudding. You whip around as soon as you sense my presence and your eyes are round as you have anticipated what is coming. Good, you recognise my greatness and it does not create defiance but rather uncertainty and fear. I can see your concern etched across your face.
“Do that again and you will regret it,” I say slowly, my eyes staring straight at yours, my gaze impenetrable and darkening. You shrink back as I loom over you. I can feel the flames rising as the negative fuel pumps from you, your fear and apprehension just what I wanted.
“Do what?” you reply.
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” I hiss and this makes you jump. The flames lick a little higher.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you protest. You are rooted to the spot but leaning away from me, your body language fuelling me as it displays your obvious unease.
“Yes you do, how dare you fucking roll your eyes at me,” I press.
“I didn’t.”
“Are you saying I am making it up?”
“No, no, I just I er, “you start to flounder, caught between wanting to cling to the truth, truth-seeker that you are and cautious of enraging me further.
“You just what? Spit it out,” I command.
“I er,”
I want to smile as I delight in your apprehension and the simple exhibition of my power over you. In an instant I have drawn my negative fuel from you and stunned you into confused silence. Power indeed.
“Well?” I urge. I am enjoying this. This is all good fuel.
“Nothing. I am sorry, I must have been distracted by something else, I have a lot on my mind with work, you know, I will push it to one side and enjoy the evening, I am sorry.”
Your apology strengthens the flames. I hold your gaze a little longer as your eyes flick from my left eye to my right eye as if you expect to find approval or forgiveness in them.
“You better had,” I say softly as I continue to look at you, “otherwise…….”
I extend the forefinger on my left hand and slowly and deliberately push it into the sponge of the cake, my digit driving into the yielding cake. Your eyes stare at the gesture as your mouth tightens in fear. I remove my finger leaving a deep and obvious indentation in the top of the cake as I lick my finger clean. I continue to stare at you and wait.
You nod.
There it is the compliance I sought.
The fuel flows and now I can turn and return to my waiting admirers having ensured you understand who is the master and who is the servant.
No raised voices. No smashed plates. No slamming doors.
Façade maintained, fuel obtained and control asserted.
This is what goes on below.
3 thoughts on “Knowing the Narcissist : What Goes On Below”
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Chilling. But it seems like the IPPS has great power of one dinner, a roll of the eyes can cause such fury. And it seems like an overreaction to threaten when she gave a plausible explanation such as being distracted over work. The control is ALOT.
Contrary to what it seems like on the surface, narcissists are the utmost slaves, as shown in this article by HG, the narcissist is a slave being controlled by his narcissism & other’s behavior (even though it’s perceived behavior. And in some ways, many of us are slaves in a similar manner that narcissists are, but we have access to our inner self, unlike narcissists. The ultimate slavery is when a person allows other people, things, & situations to decide what happens within them. (Not meaning that others are purposefully deciding. What I mean is that narcissists do not decide how they feel, think, & behave, it’s all dictated by things on the outside of themselves, like others’ behavior. Even the narcissist’s perception of others’ behavior is something that’s on the OUTSIDE of their inner self, so they don’t do things willingly.) This happens because narcissists depend on others for their prime aims – their inner self is sealed off, therefore they have to rely on others for their needs.
The difference between heaven & hell is whether you’re doing something willingly, or not willingly. When a person is able to decide that their emotions, thoughts, & behavior are under their own control, not controlled by others or situations, EVERYTHING they do is done willingly. It’s all about taking control of oneself and knowing the difference between the body, mind, emotions, & inner self. Narcissists are not in control of themselves, their self defense mechanism is; NARCISSISM is in control, the inner self is locked away.
A narcissist’s black & white thinking ties into this too. And this is something MOST people do, in a slightly different way. People who aren’t narcissists look at things & other people as “Good” or “Bad”. There are no good or bad people, people waver between the two, all people can be “good” or “bad”based on the atmosphere they’re in – but the most important thing is that when we decide who’s good & who’s bad, we’re basing it on OUR OWN DECISION of what’s good or bad, which is something that shouldn’t be decided by one person, and doing so is very NARCISSISTIC.
How this ties into being a slave, is the fact that narcissists (like many other types of people), assume that their own perception of reality is correct, which is being a slave to their own perceptions, which are NEVER equal to reality, we all have different lenses that filter the way we see reality. Not accepting this fact is not using our intelligence.
This is where we can learn from narcissists, and realize that unlike narcissists, we are ABLE to decide that our emotions, thoughts, & behavior CAN BE under our own control, not controlled by others or situations, IF we’re able to see the difference between our emotions, thoughts, mind, body, & inner self. Our inner self is where joy, happiness, & love comes from, and is SEPARATE from our emotions, thoughts, beliefs, body, & mind. Slavery is when we allow ANYTHING or ANYONE to control our behavior, including our own mind, body, emotions, thoughts, & beliefs. We are intelligent enough to know better, but few people accept that things like their emotions do not reflect reality.
What happens within us is our own making, and when we allow other people or situations to control what happens inside of us, we’re slaves – but narcissists aren’t able to control what happens within them, as their inner self is locked up, so they’re the ultimate slaves.
It’s a thrilling and chilling read.
Transported to that moment, eye to eye at the moment of assertion & submission.
I am feeling pangs of sympathy for the sub.
Men have definitely tried to assert heavy control with fear mongering over me.
In many ways I am very easy going and outwardly passive, yet with intense personal passions.
People often think that someone being ‘nice’ somehow means that those people are stupid and are going to be easy to control.
True to an extent.
But i pick my battles worth fighting.
Possibly because I was raised in a male dominated environment, I needed to defend my physical position from a young age & I am equipped with a wild, potentially vicious fighting spirit that has kept me safe this far.
For instance, i have, without a second thought, maimed a strange man’s penis.
I was around 20, 21yrs old.
My friend Jenny and I were out for a drink or two at one of our favourite bars.
We were students and there were ‘pound a pint’ prices in there. Enough said.
This was back in day when you could smoke in bars. Jenny and I would plough through a pack of ‘Lambert & Butler’ whilst enjoying a pint of ‘cider and black’. ( classy nights like this were a feature back then.)
There would be a DJ or the Jukebox playing and a pretty good crowd, so the evening was buzzing along in a very traditional manner.
There was booth style seating which we were occupying, I was sitting on the end, closest to the bar area.
Quite suddenly, a man from the bar area tapped me on the left shoulder, to which I turned my head around to see. As I looked around from seated viewpoint, I saw him standing and in his hand was his penis
He laughed and tried pushing ‘himself’ towards my face, whilst saying
‘Wouldn’t you like some of this?’
Without a second’s hesitation I looked at my cigarette, (it had a nice long burning ‘cherry’ ) and stubbed out my cigarette, hard, on his penis.
He was SO SHOCKED that he froze on the spot and I actually managed to get about 4 or 5 stubs before the cigarette broke and I threw it in the ashtray.
After a second or two function finally returned to his body and he just screamed and screamed, turned around and ran out of the pub with his unfortunate & badly burned member still in his hand.
I would never have thought of doing it or thought myself capable of it.
I wondered if I overreacted, inherent guilt over causing harm, but it was reflex and self protection.
I seriously doubt he EVER did that to another woman. It also didn’t hurt that the local men in the area knew what they’d get if they tried anything either to be honest.
There are just certain things that I can and will not tolerate. Threatening physicality being a big no for me.
Fascinating read.
Thank you HG.
🙏