One of my early girlfriends, Olivia (amazing legs by the way) said that one of the things she really liked about me when we first got together was the pride I showed in broadcasting to the world that I was in a relationship with her. She expressed surprise and delight at how widespread my announcement that we were together was. I posted repeated and regular updates on Facebook of us together, at different restaurants, on the beach, at dinner parties, holding one another and smiling for all to see. I would tweet about how happy I was as a consequence of being with her and also what a breath of fresh air she was compared to the stale, possessive relationship I had been in previously. I would take her to a dizzying array of drinks receptions (both with friends and with work) and introduce you to all and sundry, positively bursting with pride. I ensured we attended plenty of dinner parties and barbecues where we worked our way around the other guests as I enthused about her wonderful qualities knowing full well that those who were in attendance would post about it on their Facebook pages and talk to other friends and acquaintances. Well we all enjoy the latest gossip don’t we? I changed my ringtone to her favourite pop song and when people commented on the tune I would explain why I had chosen it. I spread the news as far as I possibly could, using every available channel of the dissemination of information, content that once the news was out there, it would continue to spread. Yes, Olivia was utterly swept off her feet by the huge exposure I gave her to this glamorous lifestyle of mine and moreover the repeated and concentrated blasts of heralding our coupling. She adored me for it. Of course, what she had not realised that I was not doing it for her. I was letting Sandy, who I had discarded the week prior, know just how happy I was without her and how she was missing out. That’s what it was all about.
My kind and me are growing in number and it is all your fault. You have created a generation of people who truly believe they are special (and believe me they are not). They have an unshakeable sense of entitlement. They believe they are above criticism. Look at television programmes such as the X Factor and (insert country name’s) Got Talent. You have thousands of people (usually young) who really believe they can sing, dance and entertain. The level of delusion is so great it even forms at least two episodes at the start of every series where the thick-skinned fool as ridiculed as they caterwaul through another Whitney Houston song or they bounce around the stage like a maimed walrus. Yet they argue and they cry and they back answer the judges because they have been told they can sing. Their family paid for dancing lessons from a top choreographer. Sorry but you cannot polish a turd.
Social media gives a platform to the mundane. Look at me, here is what I ate, here is a picture of my new shoes. Look at this trout pout. Me, me and more me. In sports, every member of the team receives a trophy for being special. Nonsense. Winners win trophies. You do not by just turning up.
Lacking on the looks front? Not a problem. If you have the cash (and if not well beg, borrow or steal it) you can remove the fat, iron out the lines, straighten the buck teeth and convince yourself you are devastatingly beautiful. L’Oreal tells you that you are worth it. My ass you are.
Every child is told, too often, they are special. They believe the hype and my goodness me, don’t we know it. Demands for special treatment based on no discernable talent? Failed to make the grade? Oh don’t bother to study, hire a lawyer and sue. It’s the school’s fault they failed to harness your special creativity.
You enable this charade to go unchecked and with it you are creating wave after wave of mini-mes.
Thankfully there is a solution. I will soon cut them down to size. There’s only room for one ultimate champion here and that vacancy was filled along time ago. By me.
You fell in love with an illusion. You fell hard and deep for something which never existed. The golden days that we created together were the twisted reflections of my manipulative hold over you. I know how anxious you were to try to recover the golden period. You poured your beautiful heart into securing the impossible. I know that my silences, my verbal violence, the cheating and the lies, my perfidious control of you was brutal, malicious and devastating. I understand that the whole avalanche of manipulative techniques I applied to you, in savage wave after insidious wave crushed your self-esteem, mauled your sanity and shattered your world. This brutality was nothing compared to the aftermath.
For now you have slipped away from my tight, choking grip. I know however that you sit looking from the window where you used to watch for me strolling up the driveway, a bouquet in my hands and the pain still wracks you as you remember how you fell in love with someone who was not real. Memory after memory stirs from within, an endless loop of ‘best of’ moments that you want to stop remembering but you cannot. It hurts yet you still want to remember because even as the pain rises in your chest, you still feel the flicker of your love for me and you still cherish that. Like the drug addict, you know that line of cocaine is no good for you but still you need to snort it. The cold silences may no longer chill our living room. The sting of my slap across your cheek has long since faded. The barbed comments I fired your way each day have lost their power to wound. All of that has gone. The one lingering, tortuous pain that still sits deep within you is the knowledge that you were in love with an illusion No matter how much you discuss it with your friends, the earnest hours with your therapist and the pile of books about healing that are stacked up besides your favourite chair (which I always tried to sit in before you), none of them help take away that awful aching.
You can manage the shame of being fooled. You take a strange pride in having given your all to such a despicable person because that is the person you are. Honest, decent and a provider of unconditional love. You do not want that to change. You do not want to lose the empathy for which you are renown. The battered bank balance will repair (eventually) and the dosage of the medication will come down (your doctor has said as such in soothing tones). The strength of character which made me choose you means you can deal with all of these things. The one thing that will never leave is that deep-seated pain that you loved a ghost. Your head will eventually accept what happened, that you were charmed, entranced and enchanted and you never stood a chance. That was why you were chosen. Emotionally, you will never lose that dull ache as you sit and reminisce about our time together and how wonderful being in love with me was. Your heart will never accept that it was not real.
That crack, that fracture, that tiny chink that remains from your frenetic and devastating time with me shall always remain. It is through it that I can return as I slip, shadow like into your heart through that unhealed wound. That is why we did what we did; so we always had a way back in. For all of the strength that you exhibit through never taking a call from us, from changing email accounts, from burning the pictures and changing mobile numbers, you are never truly safe. Yes, you manage to evade the snaking tendrils that we uncoiled to try to haul you back under our spell. You will have to maintain that vigilance for the rest of your life. Our polluting influence, if ever allowed near you again, will creep and trickle through the hole that will never seal. You are consigned to a lifetime of wariness and maintain your defences because that damage is permanent.
You will always be in love with the person you thought I was.
I love my mobile phone (or to our transatlantic cousins, I love my cell phone). Technology is so useful to me and my kind and you will notice it is a theme I will often return to. Today I want to give centre stage to my phone. It is such a brilliant weapon in keeping you on your toes and in a heightened state of confusion.
You will see it repeatedly stuck to my hand as I text away, surf the internet and I will often take calls when I am with you. Naturally, I do this to keep you wondering who I am engaging with and also to show they are more important than you. Other times I will keep the ‘phone about my person, away from your prying eyes. I know you want to look at it and see who has been contacting me so I keep it away from you to increase your frustration. I also don’t want you looking at it and knowing precisely what I have been doing. I will turn it off and claim I could not get a signal so that would aggravate you. I will also say that it is not working and then feign amazement when a call arrives. Other times I have run out of credit (even though I am a contract) so I could not call you. You ask why I did not text. I explain that the texts were not sending for some reason. Other times I pretend to lose it so that’s why I was out of contact although I suddenly find it again soon after. You tell me it just rang and rang (I turned off voicemail and put it on silent) or you managed to leave a message but I explain the voicemail function is not working. It really does provide me with a myriad of methods to infuriate, confuse and unnerve you. My favourite tactic of all however, which really gets to you, is to change my number and not tell you. I usually save that for when I am doling out the silent treatment to you.
I want to give you my perfect love.
I want to look over you, protect you and care for you. I want to spread my wings and shield you from any harm that might come your way. I want to see you smile. I want to hear your uplifting laugh. I want to see you shine.
I want you to feel adored and special, I want you to feel my love for you that is beyond anything you have ever known before.
I want to feel your gentle touch upon me, I want to engulf you in my all consuming and never bettered passion, I want you to moan in delight at my touch and caress.
I want to be with you every moment of every day. I want to hear your voice calling my name. I want to see your texts filling my inbox. I want to see your name listed several times amongst the missed calls.
I want to be your sun so I light up your life and you orbit around me. I want to be your sole giver of warmth and life, the very thing, the only thing that you come to rely upon.
I want to dress you in finery, the best that I can afford. I want to see you wear what I suggest you wear and that you put that dress on just for me.
I want you to breathe my air, letting it fill your lungs and tasting so sweet that you will never want to breathe the air of another.
I want you to see the world through my eyes, I want you to think the same way as me, I want you to anticipate my thoughts ,words and deeds as if you are living through me.
I want you to be a part of me. I want you to not know where you begin and where I end. I want you to taste what I taste, hear what I hear and speak with the same tongue as me.
I want you to become within me, assimilated into my being, an extension of me. I want you to discard everything you have known before and embrace me in totality. I want you to cast away your identity, your support groups, your social networks and instead be utterly dependent on me for your every need.
I want you to forget who you were.