Psychopathy : Conflagration
I entered the cavernous interior of the wooden building. My eyes adjusted to the dimming of the light as I looked along the main hallway. Leaves had blown inside, forming small piles along the hallway as the world outside bled within through a hole in the roof above my head. The hole was small, looking like it had been punched in the roof by some unseen hand, yet it afforded a shaft of light to enable me to look about the gloom. There were pictures on the walls, one could see that they were depicted landscapes. I did not recognize any of the places that were contained within the frames, but it was evident that their purpose was to instill a sense of calm in this place. This reinforced my view that this building served, in the past, some role as a place of sanctuary.
I had penetrated the interior on previous occasions, intrigued by what lay within as I searched amongst its derelict rooms. I walked past beds, cupboards and drawers, flicking through the personal effects that had been left there. Pictures of people who I would never meet, who I would never know. Books read by eyes that would never feel my steely gaze. Spectacles placed on a night stand, no longer required. Small bottles that contained medicine and tablets. Histories of the occupants marked out by personal possessions, a cohort of residents who had gone. They had not packed up and left this place an empty shell awaiting some alternative repurpose following negotiation and bargain. No, this place had been fled. There had been a marked exodus and its trappings which had been left behind were to be looked on by me and whoever else happened to come here. Judging by the way that so much had been left in situ, it was evident that few people had entered this place.
It bore no warning, no injunction to stay away, no threat that “trespassers would be prosecuted” but instead had been left as a silent testimony to a purpose that I had yet to unfathom. Wardrobes containing clothes had been left, a large kitchen with its appliances, the stains of rotted food discernible in the Stygian gloom, an administrative room, a day room with more books, jigsaws, art and craft materials, a television set which no longer broadcast.
I had no longer any need to walk this place and consider its purpose. It had a new purpose now. It would serve me.
I removed the cap on the jerry can and began to spill the petrol that I had taken from my grandfather´s garage onto the floor. The smell of the fuel mixed with the mustiness and damp of this place, a heady anticipatory brew as systematically I walked backwards casting the accelerant on the floor, over tables, over chairs and over beds, the arsonist creating his artwork before the final reveal. I did not have enough petrol to soak each room so instead I commenced the pouring of the petrol at the furthest northern end of the property and then carefully wove my way through the centre of the building, moving in and out of various rooms and along corridors maintaining a central route until the petrol slowed from a flow to a trickle and then became mere drops. I turned the jerry can upside down, coaxing the last of the fuel to fall onto the wooden floor and then I cast the can to one side, it clanged as it hit the metallic frame of a bed. I turned and could see the southern wall about twenty feet away from me through another room. I had not been able to lace the entire centre of the building from north to south, but it would not matter. This place would soon become a subject of the kingdom of flame. I walked back to the main hallway where the darkened line of petrol could still be seen as it penetrated the wooden floor. The floor must once have been stained and polished but the effluxion of time had put paid to that and instead it peeled and cracked, looking like an old woman´s skin after ninety winters.
I was slightly disappointed that I had not come upon a sleeping vagrant seeking shelter amidst the building. That would have been a bonus to observe as the degenerate sought to escape my inferno. Perhaps he would not even realise that the world around him was ablaze, wrapped deep in the embrace of an alcohol-infused sleep, mistaking the warmth of the flames for the comfort of spirits, only to awaken confused and in pain as he found himself suddenly on fire. Would serve him right for not trying harder at school. Work hard, be better, rise above them HG. That is what she said. To be sleeping in a place like this meant failure, someone who had not worked hard, someone who did not strive each and every day with every fibre of his being to be better, someone who did not have the talent and the drive to rise high. Unfortunate things happen to unfortunate people, they bring it on themselves, that was what she would remind me. I nodded, knowing compliance was expected of me, even though it was completely unnecessary. I already subscribed. Victoria aut morte.
I pulled the match box free from my coat pocket. England´s Glory made by Bryant and May. My favourite matches because the box had an image of MHS Devastation on it. What a glorious name. HMS Devastation was the first of two Devastation-class mastless turret ships built for the Royal Navy. This was the first class of ocean-going capital ship that did not carry sails, and the first whose entire main armament was mounted on top of the hull rather than inside it. Its name was entirely apt for the purpose that came within the small box. I slid the box open and lifted it to my nose, enjoying the smell of the match heads. I selected one and pushed the box closed.
I took a step back and then took the match and held it against the striking strip of the match box.
“Victoria aut morte” I declared in the gloom as I struck the match and it instantly lit with that familiar fizzing sound. I felt the surge of anticipation, the firing of the chaos engine as the sensory stimulation teetered on the edge of commencement.
I threw the match towards the line of petrol that soaked into the floor and watched as the match dropped towards its target, the flame trailing from the match stick. It hit the floor and then came that sound that was the soundtrack to my childhood, that wumf of ignition and the flames caught, surging to the left and the right racing away from the main hallway.
My face was lit up by the orange flames, the darkness of the interior driven back by the sharp arrival of the fire. I could hear the flames racing through the building, their roaring distinctive above the otherwise silence of this place.
It had begun.
57 thoughts on “Psychopathy : Conflagration”
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Does it feel more satisfying for you to set fire to something in a clandestine and/or socially frowned-upon manner? Let’s say someone who is currently painted white had a decrepit building or structure they wanted to get rid of and asked you or at least intimated that it would not be calamitous to see it go up in flames, would this cause the whole endeavour to lose its shine or is any fire a good fire?
In that instance, the fire is acceptable but one which is lit where it ought not to is all the more satisfying.
I can understand that.
For your pyro-loving heart: poplar seeds are highly flammable. The fluff, as it is often called when the seeds form a thick blanket on the ground in spring, has an interesting way of burning, from the looks of it without leaving much of a trace. In case you have not seen it before, here is an example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BB8kRXHJW8
Hi HG:
I have a question about arsonists given the horrific fires in LA. The Kenneth fire, they arrested a man who was starting it. And in the Palasades, there is an investigation and belief it’s human caused. Of course, no rain, high winds and low humidity made it a monster. But:
1. Are all arsonists psychopaths?
2. What is their goal beyond fire/burn is I to kill, damage structures?
3. Why does someone become an arsonist – genetic? Genes plus lack of control environment? Or is to something else?
4. Can you treat arsons, improve or cure them?
5. Is it like 👍 n Batman the Dark Knight? Some people just want to see the whole world burn, is there an element or root cause of nihilism?
6.
If know you have a fascination with fire and told stories of lighting fire as a child… can children be arsons? I mean I assume you outgrew lighting fires… taking that risk of harming life and property. It seems obvious. But you are the ultra… others?
7. Can an arsonist stop the urge?
To anyone out there affected by the fires, so sorry.
HG if you answer me, much thanks! Watching Southern California where I live and know people affected… it’s tragic. I do feel LA will rebuild and be better than ever! I hope we put more resources to fire prevention. Remove brush. Educate. Give deductions for home fire protection upgrades etc… I am frustrated as I do think that unlike hurricanes, more can be done to prevent these annual fires in California!
Thank you!
1. No.
2. Whose goal? The psychopathic arsonist or the non-psychopathic arsonist?
3. There are differing reasons as to why somebody may be an arsonist. For instance, someone might be an arsonist because of psychopathy, the influence of peer pressure, criminal activity or pyromania. There are different types of arsonists.
4. Treatment would depend on what is the driver behind the arson.
5. It depends on the type of arsonist.
6. Yes, children can be arsonists, in fact most arsonists are children or teenagers. I have not outgrown setting fires as this is part of my psychopathy and I cannot outgrow that.
Hello HG! Thank you responding.
I didn’t know there were various types of arsonists. I mean a sadist would enjoy burning someone. Would you consider doing a series on the types of arsonists? To me, to arson in a populated area like LA under the conditions: strong winds, low humidity and a drought, would certainly mean a high risk of property and life lost but you say that necessarily does not mean that the arsonist is a “psychopath”.
Oh course I equally wonder why the City doesn’t put more money to clearing brush or vegetation maintenance, preventative fires, creating firebreaks, making certain fire hydrants work, etc…you have to wonder about them too…
Hello HG:
I was thinking…. How so many mental illnesses have an anxiety or compulsive component. Compulsion being defined in my example as an obsession when anxiety is presented:
1. Think about narcissists: they compulsively need fuel to survive ( and psychotic breaks can happen if no fuel…)
2. Psychopaths need to accumulate and to have goals. They are busy bees many of them always striving, always doing as the emptiness eats away causing restlessness, the need to accumulate or to attain a goal etc…
3. Neurotics, borderlines ( fear of abandonment is excessive and anxious/narcs if not PTSD, well PTSD is fraught with anxiety, Anorexics, cutters, etc…
4. Arsonists: it also seems like a compulsion, a need that won’t go away.
I would think schizophrenia and bipolar might be different as chemically treated for an imbalance but what chemicals are these chemicals related to anxiety or compulsion?
I was thinking that maybe personalities arise in childhood based on some gene that predisposes combined with a trauma of sort but it’s based on an anxious compulsive way to survive…. Control compulsively. I am not talking about “fear” more of a constant urge. More of an OCD reaction where there is a compulsive need driven by part of the personality.
Perhaps that’s why SSRIs, benzos and other drugs are the go- to today but if this can’t help narcissists and psychopaths then it cannot be a chemically treatable condition and if behavior therapy or what ever therapy designed to correct perceptions doesn’t work, then it must be a deeply ingrained subconscious that to me is linked to survival or a total re-wiring of the brain perhaps shutting down “ normal” components of the brain.
I am sure there are many in science and psychology who have far better theories than me. In fact, i have read some. There are a lot if science based studies in brain differences.
But what are your thoughts about what underlines: gene + unstable environment? 1. Do you have any theories about what is the genetic feature or 2. what happens to the brain that makes it untreatable by therapy or meds? The end result is similar enough for people to characterize but what about causation… common threads?
Just curious about what lies beneath it all.l
Hi Contagious,
I’m so glad to see your post. I’ve been so worried about you. I hope you and your family are doing ok.
Thank you dear Leigh!
I look very south of LA and no fires but it doesn’t d effect people I know. Sad.
In one respect, speaking a foreign language is somewhat similar, on a very small scale, to psychopathy. We are missing the barrier a native speaker has against using certain words in certain situations. Words which shock native speakers or which they would never use in polite company because it is just not done, such as certain curse words, feel wholly unremarkable to the non-native speaker. I remember the example of a Swedish sportsman giving a tv interview in German and repeatedly using the word “Scheiße”, because he was missing the social cue or knowledge about the linguistic norm that native German speakers would hardly use it in such a public and (semi-)official setting, because it is not part of the relevant linguistic register. He will not have found anything remarkable in using it, but I found it jarring in that particular context. It is not an especially strong word, and it is used in compounds or derivations quite regularly without issue, but in its pure form most native speakers would be reluctant to use it and cross that particular barrier in such a situation.
Psychopaths have the same lack of a barrier (viewed from the majority perspective) on a large scale, no boundary against acting in ways which contravene societal norms, no inner voice that whispers, “Don’t do it, this is wrong.”
Anna: really good insight and analogy.
Contagious,
thank you very much for your kind words.
I often notice, when HG uses what we might call colourful language, that to my ears one word is pretty much like another. I know which words fall into which register and are considered rude, for example, but I experience no emotional spike in reaction. So if you ever want to really insult a person, best do it in their mother tongue. Not only does it hit harder, it will also be much easier for you, because you won’t mind saying it as much.
Hi Anna:I was married to a Brit for 10 years, together 12. My first experience intimately with a narc. I know the words lol. X
HG, sir! Am I correct in my thinking on the role of fire:
Fire is uncontrollable in its ability to take all in, to engulf and transform whatever is in its way ― „Fire doesn’t discriminate“. One can’t resist fire’s embrace.
1. Control over this uncontrollable force is the need of narcissism’s construct?
2. The observation of this force and its effects is the need of psychopathy for experiencing novelty, something unexpected, but also something very powerful?
3. Whatever can be predicted becomes boring — whatever can’t — not?
Mr. Tudor, it was a real treat to get this back to back with “No Pyro, No Party” and then “I will burn it all.” Thank you so much! And I hope there will be a fourth “chapter” soon. Young HG is such an intriguing person. Thank you again, and have a lovely Christmas, however you choose to spend it!
And WHY exactly did you set that building on fire, H.G.?
Patience is a virtue.
In short:
1. “I burned someone’s uninhabited property.”
2. “I would like to burn a man.”
YouTube users’ reaction:
1. “Sending you love.”
2. “Excellent text.”
3. “You are mesmerizing.”
4. “It’s so funny.”
5. “Thank you for the adventure. I look forward to more.”
Wow! Thoughtlessness. Shame.
I think that some context would be worthwhile here.
Whilst you are at liberty to describe the reactions and express your own view, you have reported it to make it seem that those reactions are definitively linked to points 1 and 2. Firstly, point 1 – it is a derelict property, many years abandoned. Point 2 – the text did not state “I would like to burn a man” but rather contemplated observing someone’s attempts to escape the flames and wondering whether he might perhaps catch fire. Secondly, the writers of the comments may well have been responding to other aspects of the video and not the two (misrepresented) points you have selected and then allocated their comments to.
HG, it’s obvious I did it on purpose. To emphasize the alarm bell (danger!), that rings in my head like a several-ton bell. And I have the impression, that some people either don’t hear anything buzzing or ignore it.
Pushing the boundaries.
This is how all evil is born. No one stomped on this fire in the beginning…
This does not diminish your achievements, which I also benefit from.
And finally – this is pure logic.
Hi HG,
“I felt the surge of anticipation, the firing of the chaos engine as the sensory stimulation teetered on the edge of commencement.”
When I read this, it felt like a serotonin rush that I get at times, do you know if it is that in you also? The “chaos engine” is not how I would describe it but rather warmth that spreads, but the “surge of anticipation” is the beginning. And of course, I would not feel this at starting a fire, not at all, that would be terrifying. So different triggers, yours needing to be much larger and more risk taking.
It’s what a good DA does to convince a jury. Take statements made and come to a conclusion. The defense argues these statements are taken out of context. The jury decides examining the evidence;)
Contagious, this comparison made me laugh so much 🙂
In my opinion, the jury’s verdict is irrelevant and I will accept an unfavorable verdict 🙂 The most important thing is that the seed of doubt has been sown. Now you just have to wait… for the right weather 🙂
In fact I don´t think so, i think those people are fascinated of what is going on in H.G.s brain. They are excited to get such an insight into a psychopath-brain! Every such article is an “adventure” into H.G.s brain, he writes his thoughts, he shows how a psychopath thinks. I think THIS is meant, when those people are talking about “excellent text” and “adventure”. Of course I perceive that as “evil” too, but if we look closer at the medical facts, it´s absolutely logical that H.G. has no emotional empathy, no guilt, no remorse, no sympathy, he doesn´t care! He can´t! Because as we know, there´s no activity in those areas of the brain (see PET-scans from psychopathic brains!). H.G. just tells the story from HIS view, how HE, as a narcissistic psychopath thinks. Yes, luckily, it was not YOU who were in that house, and luckily it´s now the year 2023, you are grown-up, a mom, a well educated woman, a woman who has found her way in life. It´s NOW! It´s TODAY! I myself had a similar past in poverty, in abuse, as ACON, as the “black sheep”, as someone who lived on white toast bread and chocolate bars, who worked hard, who did sh*t-jobs, just to be able to finance her studies, but now is now! We gotta move on ……. (Yeah, I suck at nice, comforting words, sorry, I´m a Carrier and try to help with logic, if that makes sense?)
I absolutely don’t need consolation. That was almost 30 years ago.
This was not the purpose of my post.
This is not about me, but about readers fully understanding, that a homeless person can also be a valuable person.
—–
Setting fire to a vacant building, that has been standing for even 100 years, is still arson of someone else’s property.
There are inheritance cases, that last 20-30 years, and the number of heirs is increasing. I could come up with 1500 options, for why this building stood alone, including romantic and tear-jerking ones, but that’s not the point.
—–
I understand the desire to get to know and understand another person – a psychopath. Yes, it’s interesting – to some borders. Beyond these borders you will find nothing, only the sound of cold wind and death. There’s no point in going there.
HG is like anesthesia. He anesthetizes people with beautiful words and metaphors, and then gives them a dose of himself, like a medicine. Any drug in too high a concentration is a poison.
There are limits, within which people should be able to say STOP, instead of “Oh and ah, you’re so awesome.” Otherwise, evil will spread.
PS Bread with mustard and alcohol (for anesthesia). These were my standard meals back then.
Bread with mustard? Yummy! 🤪 I had it with plain and simple butter or sometimes with some cheap canned tuna or dunked it in milk. Anyway, I don´t exactly understand some people´s emotional reaction because I see it completely from the medical perspective. OF COURSE a homeless person is a valueble person, you never know WHY and HOW they got there. You never know what´s the story behind it. But telling THAT to a psychopath is like explaining the colors to a blind person.
Leela, bread with mustard is bread with mustard. The extra ingredients, you listed, were too much of a luxury.
—–
My question – although ostensibly put to HG – was not directed at him directly. I didn’t expect HG’s answer and I didn’t care about it, because it’s obvious and wouldn’t bring anything.
However, I wanted other blog users to read them.
—-
You can also assume, that I’m talking to myself. I do it constantly 🙂
Leela_Z
It is indeed evil. It is indeed sick.
People always search out the darkness and sadly have a morbid curiosity.
They flock to it like moths to a flame.
Sadly, our sick world does not reward those who are kind
It sees kindness as a weakness
Most know of the deadly sins, but do they know of the 7 virtues?
It disgusts me that the innocents suffer
It disgusts me that people find badness to be “cool”
I sometimes wonder if in fact we are living in hell.
It is important to protect those who are innocent, those who are weak and to appreciate the goodness.
Stay away from the darkness.
H.G. explained this already. There are many “Normals” among those people and those have no empathy for people they don´t know. They have only empathy for a narrow range of people (friends, family, etc.). So: This makes sense. The problem why innocent people suffer is that exactly the psychopaths and narcissists are in power! That´s why! An Empath in a powerful position is super rare, there are a few, but not many. Most of them who cause the pain, the suffering, the deaths are psychopaths and narcissists.
Then I would ask Normals this:
Would you yourself like to be treated this way?
I have no idea how Normals think and feel, I personally perceive them as “cold”, I don´t like them, to be honest. I go either for fellow-empaths (not all though, certain kinds) or – unfortunately – narcissists (who feel like “home”). But Normals ususally don´t interest me at all.
I saw another YouTube where a popular psychologist who is a diagnosed narcissistic psychopath basically called HG a con with no credentials. He said empaths do not exist. It’s a “self aggrandizing term. “ WOW. So I researched it. Many neuroscientists and psychologist recognize the term “ empaths.”
Neuroscientists and psychologists study empathetic abilities within individuals and recognize the emotional awareness and sensitivity that characterizes empaths. They acknowledge the potential impact of heightened empathy on emotional regulation, social interactions, and mental health.We exist. All it means it a higher degree than a normal
Neurology and empathy are interconnected as neuroscientists explore the neural mechanisms underlying empathy. This involves studying brain regions associated with emotional processing, theory of mind, and mirror neuron activity to understand how empathy is experienced and expressed at a neurological level.
It’s real. I am not sure it’s true that we are rare. HG doesn’t give a statistic nor could I find one online. We just have more empathy. HG sort of categorizes it in cadres and schools but not numbers or percents. He says normals are the majority but by how much?
. It would seem the are in power. But I am not sure that is true. What’s power if not to create a society if not benefits to one? .The ones who come to mind are Jesus ( look at what he built, the largest religion in the world… ummmm), Martin Luther King Jr, Ghandi, etc… big societal change but not political leaders. I wonder if it’s grass roots. We make the home and nourish children to join society, we create communities. We create small and great changes to the world.
Was Ben Franklin an empath? I think so. Btw he was almost Americas first President but for age.
Benjamin Franklin made significant contributions across various fields, including science, politics, and diplomacy. His achievements include pioneering work in electricity, authoring “Poor Richard’s Almanack,” advocating for American independence, negotiating the Treaty of Paris, establishing the first public lending library, and co-founding the University of Pennsylvania.
Libraries are quite empathetic as is common education. Peace treaties… empathy. Imagine a world without it.
Think of the Red Cross, how many narcs join? I could go on.
So, I think we are quite quite powerful. Maybe more so. Swords up! It is a war.
I think I heard something like 5 % of the population are empaths, H.G. said the numbers but don´t ask me in which video. It´s long time ago, but yes, empaths are rare! Over 90 % of the population are “Normals”, like 5 % or something empath, or a few percent and the rest narcs. Don´t know if I remember correctly but most people on this planet are just “Normals”. But many narcs join some “charity organizations” just for virtue signalling! We always gotta be careful when ANY politician or activist is virtue signalling. Just alarm bells on and do either research or wait and see, because sooner or later you see the hypocrisy!! Then it´s very likely we´re dealing with narcs.
One last thing. Empaths are capable of knowing what it feels to kill a man. We are capable. I would not hesitate to protect a loved one in whatever means. I know that lives in me. So empaths aren’t weak either. We have killed throughout history along normals and narcs and psychopaths for different reasons. It’s not our first choice. It’s not what we want to do. But capable? Like mother bears.
We´re not weak at all! No way! I read a very interesting book. It´s written by a forensic psychologist and the message is something like “everybody can become a killer”. Even empaths! The threashold is just much higher in empaths, we would ONLY kill to survive or protect their loved ones, while a psychopath may kill just for fun. But for example: I´m so angry with some politicians, I would LOVE to see them dead, or at least: I would not have ANY empathy for them if they got killed by an angry mob (and here, it´s not so unlikely that exactly this may happen soon!)
Contagious,
Stats by HG:
1 out of 6 are narcs. 3 out of 6 are normals. 2 out of 6 are empaths.
If you’re saying Gandhi was an empath, you might be surprised by some behaviors he exhibited.
Ben Franklin was almost certainly not an empath, given his many sexcapades. I don’t believe an empath would do that while married…huge narcissistic indicator.
Empaths are very very rare
Only 4% of the human race is truly altruistic
In this cruel hard world it is hard to believe that such people can exist.
Hi there Leela: In my opinion for whatever that’s worth, kindness is a reward in and of itself. ( and then there is religion too). For example, people often don’t forget kindness at a time in their life when they needed it. One poor friend of mine lost his parents, his best friend and brother at 42 to a heart attack during a marathon, got divorced, lost his company as hospitalized and diagnosed with diabetes, lost a sister in a car accident all in a two year period. He became a born again Christian. He was a high school football star, went to USC, once dated Kelly Preston, was handsome, talented and down on his luck. One day, He showed up at my door step with a car bumper in his hand. He needed a home. I didn’t really know him that well but we had a mutual friend. He was kind to a mentally slow girl who was my neighbor and to this day considers myself as her best friend. She is a true and I mean true respected friend. He lost his car and home that day. He needed to rebuild his life. I had an extra room and took him in rent free. He was not the first or the last I have done this for. BUT after a couple of months he got a good job, moved out, married, had three children, and bought a nice home. Years and years later and everytime I see him he thanks me. He once sent a spa weekend as a gift to me at Christmas. His wife likes me and has expressed her thanks too. It’s embarrassing. I had a room. It was not a burden at all. We were not romantic. I was just a friend. I could give several examples, one young MBA graduate was just a friend suffering no employment after graduation and who slept on my couch rent free for months. He is now a CFO at Qualcomm, married, children and successful. Etc… the point is kindness is a reward unto itself who knows if one act of kindness launched another’s chance in life? And although you don’t receive immediate reward you contribute to a better society. I find it sad when we empaths downgrade our power. We are quite powerful just in a different way. Happy holidays! I enjoy your contributions to the blog. Thank you!
Yes. HG is not asking us to accept his thoughts and actions. He is merely having us acknowledge through example that they exist for some. We can then do with that what we will.
We are not condoning his thoughts and actions by simply being made aware of them for our own contemplation and protection.
NA, thank you for this short but concise statement.
My god, if there were more people like that in the world…
Maybe then I wouldn’t have to go to the very edge of wanting to live and wanting to die, every time I feel deeply disappointed with the human world. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to sense and save people close to me from the same depths of powerlessness and speechless resignation.
Yes, it is this awareness in people that I care about.
“We are not condoning” – these words sound so ordinary, but they are a beautiful and very strong offensive. Sufficient, if only more people said it.
One more thing, HG says Narcs create the idea of love in song, poetry and books. I agree the Cinderella story is probably a narc fantasy we buy into, etc… but empaths are entertainers too… HG mentions some, thanks for your balanced approach HG, those who love can speak of love and their authenticity rings so true. Dolly Parton. “I will always love you.” End of.
I curled up into a ball. It hurts. I don’t want to know anything more.
Human. What right does he have to decide about the life or death of another person?
I take so much comfort in the fact, that every torturer, murderer and pimp in this world will one day die. He will rot and decay just like the people he once tormented, tortured or killed.
And any legacy left behind is only a temporary extension. Nanosecond on the scale of time and space. A futile effort. It will disappear. It will turn to dust. Like everything.
In such moments, when the motivation for burning a person is presented dispassionately and carelessly, I would prefer that this flame spread to the whole world. Let everyone die, let this scream of opposition within me end, let this pain end, let this senselessly created, just because “I want”, evil end. STOP.
—–
When I was a teenager, I ran away from home – many times – for a few days, a few weeks. I was underage, so the police took me to the police station or home. I was running away again.
Despite my great fear, I preferred to wander the streets rather than be at home, rather than feel that fear, that pressure, than be “locked” there.
It was dark and cold at nights, I waited for dawn to break, for the sun’s rays to warm me. At night I looked into the windows of houses, where the lights were on and people were going about their lives. I watched them and felt like crying. I wanted such a warm, safe home so much.
At nights I slept on staircases, in sewage manholes, in empty buildings, in wooden deer pastures, in parks, in old houses and ruins.
I begged money. I ate old, moldy bread for the ducks. I ate, what I found in the forest, fished from the lake or received from people.
I grew up in prosperity and had an educated family. But I didn’t want to be there. The house was a quiet, elegant hell.
—–
Now. I have postgraduate education. I have a stable financial situation and a warm house with windows that I once watched from the street. I work a lot and hard. I pay taxes. I am honest. I am a mother. I gave life and I protect life.
That sleeping tramp could have been me.
What right do you have to decide???
—–
Yes I know. You DON’T even care in the slightest.
Of course he doesn´t! There´s no brain activity in those areas! H.G. is a PSYCHOPATH!
Thank you for sharing a piece of your history, Joa, I really admire your strength and resilience.
Leigh, there’s nothing to admire here. For 2 years I got to know human gutters and sewage of the most primitive kind. Some bad things happened to me, I was very close to death many times. This is not a place for a child – a young girl.
N1 saved me from this. That’s where I met him…
He became the spark for which I wanted to live and for which I could rise above myself.
Whatever happened between us later, I will always be grateful to him for it and for the many other things he showed me, taught me and that we experienced together for 11 years.
Forever in my heart.
—–
What also saved me was that my mother was forced, to do something. She could no longer sustain the fiction we lived in. Her children were at the very bottom, and her “family” was ruins. It was all too obvious what my sister and I expected. She filed for divorce and chose us – the children.
Although not for long, a new “problem” soon appeared on the horizon. This woman can’t live without a man even for 5 minutes.
In 3 months – at the age of 70 – she is getting married again. Her every men are more and more problems for us (me and my sister).
I’m going to respectively disagree, Joa. I think there’s a lot to admire about you.
Yes, maybe N1 saved you but you still lived through it. Not only did you survive, you actually thrived. Many would’ve used that time as an excuse to stay down. You didn’t. That’s what’s admirable.
Your mom is 70 and getting remarried? I’m curious, how old is her betrothed?
I think there´s a lot to admire about ALL OF US! Most of us are survivors of narcissistic abuse. But we took our lives in our own hands and decided that was doesn´t kill us makes us stronger (well, most of us I guess?).
Leigh, thank you – I’m not very good at accepting this type of words about me, although of course they reach me and give me pleasure.
I also focused on the situation, I was in. There was nothing to admire there. Primitivism, egoism, evil. Being in this environment, I also did not remain passive. I feel like vomiting, when I remember that “myself”. That was not me! 🙂
Of course, I direct my life and I take from it what I need. Which does not exclude my gratitude to some people, who appeared at the right moment 🙂
We both drew from each other – and that’s ok.
—–
My mother’s “fiancé” is 73 years old and, of course, he is a purebred Narcissist.
Promoted motive for this decision:
– they want to lie in a common grave (they can do so without being married).
Actual motive:
– securing assets in the event of my mother’s death.
– fuel.
They failed to do the latter. My and my sister’s reaction was… bland.
More or less:
– “Now be careful! Sit down, sit on the chair! We have great news for you! You’ll drop dead if you hear it! Are you sitting down? Are you holding on? Attention!…(drum sound here)… we’re getting married in March!”
– “Congratulations. Could you pass me a plate of asparagus? Thank you.”
Hi Joa,
I’m not good at hearing positive things about myself either. It makes me very uncomfortable. But we need to hear it. It raises our spirits.
Your story about your mother and her fiance amused me a little bit. I love the way you explain things. It really helps paint a picture for me. I’m sorry to hear that he’s after her assets. Its scary that even in our 70s we have to worry about being ensnared by a narcissist. Do you and your sister have a way to secure her assets so he can’t get to them?
Yes, I suppose that some narcissists have some admirable traits, like fortitude, tenacity & decisiveness. But I can’t go down that rabbit hole. I need to see the narcissist as bad. This way it makes it easier for me to draw a line in the sand.
I think I remember you saying that your daughter was hospitalized recently. I hope she’s doing better.
Yes, there is something admirable in almost every person. Even in Narcissus. Apart from the vastness of blackness, I also see those things, that I value, that I have learned and assimilated.
As many times as people disappoint me; they amaze me and restore my faith. A constant, intertwining, torpedoing and balancing process 🙂
Hey Leigh,
for many years I have been the sole co-owner of all my mother’s bank and stock exchange accounts (by her will). I do not log into these accounts, I do not engage, I do not check and I do not even want to know about my mother’s finances, while she is alive. However, after my mother’s death, I will do it quickly and fairly take care of my interests, those of my sister and our children (if there been anything else to share).
My mother’s future husband is to have a guaranteed easement to live in and use two properties until his death. Of course, propably he will completely cleanse the movables. I will only regret our family souvenirs and my mother’s personal items…
The situation is dynamic. Currently, the edifice of illusion has collapsed again with a bang – the future groom has no strength to carry this structure for longer than 3-4 months. After buying him a new car (with money from my grandmother’s inheritance!), he became overwhelmed with triumph and completely ruined the situation, attacking me and my sister (we both drive very old cars), but especially spewing hatred towards our mother.
I only told her one sentence: “Here’s a sample of what will happen after the wedding.” Nothing more.
This is his third attempt at marriage with my mother. Twice before, my mother agreed, but each time he destroyed everything himself, so she returned the ring and canceled the wedding.
However, I think that this time the marriage will take place. By March, he will lift my mother from the bottom to the top, and before the wedding, there will be a sweet-farting idyll again.
My mother is terrified of being alone. Unfortunately, neither I nor my sister have the strength or desire to run to her rescue again and we don’t want to be sucked into this again. It burdens our lives too much – for as long as I can remember, we have been forced, in one way or another, into her relationships (e.g. pretending to be sick or hospitalized).
For about 3 years, my sister and I have only been observers from a distance, with minimal reaction – which gave him clear room to maneuver. Everything that needs to be said about this relationship has already been said. Besides, my mother knows perfectly well what kind of lie she is in, but she wants to stay in it. She prefers variable fiction; his hatred and primitivism, interspersed with hope for better days – than NOTHING. In her feeling, he pushes death away from her.
When it comes to finances, I’m ready for any scenario. Maybe he’ll be able to digest everything, but… I trust my mom. If I am disappointed, I will accept it.
—
Indeed, the persistence of Narcissists is amazing. The last time I saw N1 was 20 years ago. Two days ago he wrote me a message: “Hi, I shouldn’t write this, but I’m very impressed. You haunted my dreams all night long. I woke up sweaty. So many years… Twisted to the max…
“Yes, I had nightmares today too.” – I replied and laughed silently to myself.
—
Oh, thank you for remembering! Yes, my daughter underwent laparoscopic surgery, so she recovered very quickly and is now enjoying her full life, pain-free! 🙂
Joa,
That’s wonderful news about your daughter. I’m happy to hear she’s doing well!
Oh my gosh! 20 years and N1 is still hoovering!?!? They really are tenacious. You’re response was perfect!
I understand why you no longer want to come to your Mom’s rescue. My mother is incredibly needy as well. It can be exhausting. I hope she listens to your wise words. If she does decide to marry him even after that incident, I hope she will at least protects her assets.
Is there anyway to get to the personal items and family souvenirs now? Losing personal items out of my childhood home was very upsetting to me. My mom’s house was in my grandmother’s name. When my grandmother died, she left everything to my uncle (my mother’s brother), even my mother’s home. My mother was in a rehabilitation center at the time because she had fallen. My uncle never let us back in. We lost everything. I highly recommend trying to getting some of the things your really love before that happens. You just don’t know what people are capable of. My uncle told me that he’d have me arrested if I tried to go back in. I just wanted my mom’s jewelry and some of my personal things that were still there but he refused. He’s an asshole!
Leigh,
my mother doesn’t listen to anyone but herself. She is too intelligent to lose her assets. Money gives her a sense of control and power, she will never give it up.
I wrote earlier, that I trust my mother, but this is an oversimplification. I trust her, because I know her very well. She will never entrust her partner/future husband with more money, because she keeps him on the rope (reciprocity) and doesn’t trust him. She gives him… rewards. My sister would waste everything to help animals, and the thought of being so unproductive (according to my mother) makes her extremely irritated. The prospect of the banks taking over her property, after my mother’s death, gives her a slight sense of satisfaction (after all, I am an ungrateful rebellious daughter and should be punished), but at the same time it makes my mother’s life useless, so this possibility should also be crossed out. That’s why she has no one else to entrust with her finances, except me, because she knows that:
1. Even if I’m starving, I won’t touch her accounts in the slightest.
2. After my mother’s death, I will divide it wisely and fairly – and I will take care of my sister.
3. My greatest asset is my daughter, who is my mother’s favorite (in the opinion of my mother, whom I established and do not correct, she is most like her).
However, I can expect a surprise, in the form of a omitting me in the will, for my daughter – when it comes to real estate. I will be sad, that once again my mother will show me how unimportant I am, but I will be happy, that my daughter will gain something. She will inherit everything from me anyway.
There are many scenarios, but this one is the most likely, almost certain. My mom doesn’t really know how to surprise me anymore 🙂
The situation in my mother’s relationship has turned 180 degrees again 🙂 I always get mad at myself, when I worry about her for the million, eight hundred thousand and fifty-sixth time. I leave her house and for several hours I cannot calm down, wondering whether he will hurt her, whether her psyche will withstand his hateful words, aggressive screams and deliberate, boorish demonstrations. Meanwhile, two days later she calls me and, in an exultant voice, as if nothing had happened two days earlier, she asks: “So, how are you? You know, X and I are just coming back from the restaurant and we thought of you. You know X doesn’t like eating out, but this restaurant was brilliant. You have to go sometime… if you don’t have money, I will help you and give it to you. When was the last time, when you went somewhere???” Blah blah blah. Sometimes I turn off my phone. The blinders fall off my eyes (1,800,056 times), checkmate and she still managed to insult me :) Of course, I NEVER take advantage of her empty financial offers.
Sometimes, when we are alone, when I see her tired, hunched, with gray hair, I am filled with tenderness and understanding. In fact, I prefer it when she beams and speaks in her loud Queen voice, even when she insults me, even when telling lies about the past. She’s far away from me then, but she’s in shis element.
Oh, mom…
—
Incidents are a normal thing in my mother’s life. Erased like chalk is erased from a blackboard. “Nothing like that happens, you don’t know life.”
I have photos. I photograph every smallest element that is close to me. A massive table in the dining room, at which the whole family sits during the ceremony. A large brass lamp with milky and rainbow opals. A red tablecloth with a black zigzag pattern, that I remember from my childhood. A napkin with cornflowers embroidered by my mother. A porcelain milk cow, that I brought from the mountains and once gave to my mother for her collection. The poppy seed cake, which she baked – too dry, as usual. Dessert plates made of ultrathin glass (it’s a miracle, that none of them have broken after all these years…). A low stool, after many renovations, which has accompanied my mother since her childhood. A huge portrait of my mother, hanging in huge golden frames in the middle of the living room. Dog. My mother’s hand, placed on the armrest of the armchair. Colorful stained glass windows in green kitchen cabinets. Black cabinet handles with rosettes. A honey-mustard wall with delicate rays of the setting sun falling on it. A white wicker basket with my mother’s hairbrushes in the bathroom. Always the same face cream. A wonderful collection of dozens of photos of our entire family, in cheerful, colorful frames, that decorate two walls of my mother’s bedroom.
I’m perpetuating. I rarely come back to these photos. The very fact of creating them, knowing that I can come back to them, writing about it – preserves that’s all in my memory. This is how I spent years preparing for my grandmother’s death. This is how I prepare for my mother’s death.
I have a part of your life in my head. I have read all your letters and notes. I looked at all the photos. I looked through the books. I know, where you kept your sugar and where you rested in the garden. I know, where the chair leg was scratched. I know, where the parquet floor in the kitchen creaked while you were making tea. I can smell your kitchen cabinets. I see roses growing by the porch. Walnuts lie in the grass. I hear your voice, gentle, croaking, hoarse, laughing. I have a part of your life in my head.
Sometimes, I lie down in my mother’s bedroom. I “cut out” the sounds coming from outside; silence, the ticking of the clock on the dresser. I look through “her” eyes. It’s as if time had stopped for a moment. Her life. Sometimes I open the wardrobe with her clothes to feel and remember the scent, never to confuse it with any other (it’s impossible). Sometimes, my sister and I both lie there. In silence.
I like it, when Mom opens her bedroom door sharply and scolds us in an irritated tone: “What are you two doing here again? I can’t understand this! I have been taking care of your children and your dogs for 20 minutes. You came here to rest or what? Joa, maybe you make some coffee for everyone?! Justi, your youngest child is lying on the floor in the hall and putting puzzles in all her shoes. I’m not going to cut dacquoise, because the meringue will crack again! Does this dog have to lie on my bed too?! Will you finally get up?!”
Thank you.
I’m perpetuating.
I revel in…
Oh, mom…
—
I don’t actually need these things. Junk, that will litter my house. I already have so many souvenirs of each… The most important things are where they should be – in a huge bank of memories, behind my eyes.
Yes, my mother’s partner once did this to his ex-wife. He cleaned out their shared house, when she filed for divorce and went on vacation for a week. He took EVERYTHING out. He threw away her personal belongings. He tore up the oak floorboards and tore out the wooden door frames. When she returned home, she found the house in a shell state.
Thus, he has experience 🙂
I’m ready for any scenario. I don’t think anything would surprise me.
Hi Joa,
I’m glad to hear your mom has it under her control. My mother isn’t that smart but she’s a victim narcissist.
I have trouble seeing things in my mind. Often times things come to my mind in words or shadows. I can’t imagine what someone might look like unless I’ve seen a picture. Everyone on the blog I associate as their avatar picture. You keep changing your avatar so you come across as Joa in my head. Anyway, because you’re very descriptive, it can help me picture things. I just wanted to tell you, I really appreciate that. Thank you.
I curled up into a ball. It hurts. I don’t want to know anything more.
Human. What right does he have to decide about the life or death of another person?
I take so much comfort in the fact, that every torturer, murderer and pimp in this world will one day die. He will rot and decay just like the people he once tormented, tortured or killed.
And any legacy left behind is only a temporary extension. Nanosecond on the scale of time and space. A futile effort. It will disappear. It will turn to dust. Like everything.
In such moments, when the motivation for burning a person is presented dispassionately and carelessly, I would prefer that this flame spread to the whole world. Let everyone die, let this scream of opposition within me end, let this pain end, let this senselessly created, just because “I want”, evil end. STOP.
—–
When I was a teenager, I ran away from home – many times – for a few days, a few weeks. I was underage, so the police took me to the police station or home. I was running away again.
Despite my great fear, I preferred to wander the streets rather than be at home, rather than feel that fear, that pressure, than be “locked” there.
It was dark and cold at nights, I waited for dawn to break, for the sun’s rays to warm me. At night I looked into the windows of houses, where the lights were on and people were going about their lives. I watched them and felt like crying. I wanted such a warm, safe home so much.
At nights I slept on staircases, in sewage manholes, in empty buildings, in wooden deer pastures, in parks, in old houses and ruins.
I begged money. I ate old, moldy bread for the ducks. I ate, what I found in the forest, fished from the lake or received from people.
I grew up in prosperity and had an educated family. But I didn’t want to be there. The house was a quiet, elegant hell.
—–
Now. I have postgraduate education. I have a stable financial situation and a warm house with windows that I once watched from the street. I work a lot and hard. I pay taxes. I am honest. I am a mother. I gave life and I protect life.
That sleeping tramp could have been me.
What right do you have to decide???
—–
Yes I know. You DON’T even care in the slightest.
Do it, Brother Beavis!