I am letting you see my worldview for your own protection.

Would you like to know what is going through my mind when we argue? Thought you would.

I do enjoy an argument. I love to start a squabble, a contretemps and escalate it to a quarrel through to an altercation, a fight ! By now I am sure you have realised that the reason I do this is twofold. First, I am provoking an emotional reaction from you which gives me fuel. Secondly, it enables me to put you in your place and control you by being abusive towards you. I keep it within the realms of stinging and barbed verbal abuse but there are those of my brethren who do like to let their fists do the talking. That is not my style but we cannot shy away from the truth of what is being done in the name of “a discussion”.

I know from experience and also from reading numerous comments and observations that you regard arguing with me akin to banging your head against a brick wall. You cannot understand the stance we adopt in an argument. Surely we must recognise that what we are saying makes no sense? Do we not realise that our position lacks logic? I will endeavour to enlighten you. I recognise two types of argument. The first is created by me. The second is created by you. What they both have in common is you are at fault.

In the first type I generate an argument out of nothing. You find this disorienting and confusing. In fact,I will often do this after we have just done something delightful together (throwing you from a height is all the more delicious – see Get Ready To Drop). I will invent some offence (why did you just look at that man across from us, when you did not) or I will seize on something utterly trivial (thanks for taking that last drop (and it was a drop) of the sauvignon blanc). I will level the accusation at you. You will at first be stunned because everything was going swimmingly. You will then be perplexed as my accusation is either untrue or so minor to be negligible. Why is he getting so het up over nothing? Indignance will then rise inside you as your inner self questions whether you are just going to sit and take this unjust accusation. I am shouting at you now and you either run away or fight back. It might go something like this.

“Oh thanks for taking the last of the wine, I wanted that. I have hardly had any.”

“Sorry? There was only a drop left.”

“But you didn’t ask me if I wanted it did you?”

“I didn’t think to, there was just a dribble.”

“You didn’t think? That’s the trouble with you. You never think.”

“Oh come on, besides you’ve had plenty of wine anyway.”

“Are you saying I have a drink problem?”

“Woah, where did that come from?”

“You. You are always doing this. You do something selfish and then turn it into an attack about me. Just because you cannot stand for someone to point out when you have done something wrong.”

“Good God, what are you talking about?”

“That’s it, try to dismiss me when I am making a valid point.”

“I only poured a drop of wine into my glass. It is not big deal. Here, if it troubles you so much, have what is left in my glass.”

“No, it’s too late. The damage is done. You are trying to make light of when I am pointing something out to you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Oh I am ridiculous am I, well that’s rich coming from someone who drinks a bottle, at least one, a day.”

“Where do you get that from? No I don’t.”

“Yes you do. I am concerned about your drinking, have you ever considered getting some help?”

And on it goes.

When I start an argument like this I am not interested in proving what I am saying is correct. I am already right in my mind. You should note that ‘right’ and ‘correct’ are not necessarily the same thing. The whole purpose of this type of argument is for me to upset you and turn an otherwise pleasant experience into a horrible one. This is about exerting control so that you become wary about upsetting me. Next time you will always ensure you offer to pour me a glass of wine before tending to yourself for fear of causing an argument. Of course,, the next time I will be arguing about how you took the last profiterole instead even though I had eaten five more than you already.

The second type of argument is where you level a complaint or accusation at me. Invariably what you say is correct and you have valid grounds for raising it. You will also do so in a calm and level-headed fashion because that is your style. When you do this I do not hear what you are actually saying to me. The validity of your argument is meaningless to me. The piece of paper that documents your point may as well be written in Sanskrit for all the notice I will take of it. All I hear is you criticising me and I hate that. I absolutely hate it. How dare someone like you, who is inferior to someone like me, have the audacity to suggest I have done something wrong. I do not hear your words, I do not see the video recording you are playing back, all I hear is an unjust and scathing attack on me. Your words are drowned out by the raging fire that surges through me. The noise of the flames renders me deaf to your cool logic. I will deflect, deny and launch my own attacks (usually predicated on inventions) in order to beat you back. I am not interested in the correctness of what is being argued about. I am only interested in stopping the burning sensation I feel from your criticism and to do that I have to extinguish you. This is when I lose control and lash out. I will hurl savage insults at you and I will smash items of property (in my mind I am smashing you, just another object in front of me when I do this) and some of my kind will engage in physical violence. You will try to make me see that I am wrong (any healthy person would do this) and you are utterly flabbergasted as to why I cannot see what you are saying to me. Now you know. I cannot see because of the fiery rage that has erupted.

How do you deal with me in these two types of argument? Well, I am saving that information for another time. In the meanwhile, see if you can piece together that ornament I just have hurled against the wall.

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thV6PJJ06DI love the first picture that I ever saw of you. It was not one taken by me although there will be hundreds of those in due course. A multiplicity of snapshots which have been taken to show the world how wonderful you and me are together. Each one carefully configured on my part to send a message. See who I am now taking to your favourite restaurant? Look how we went to Rome when you always wanted to go? How about that? I have gone to the theatre when I told you I hated watching plays. See how we get on with my family? Go on, look at how happy she is making me, far more than you ever did. No, those pictures, whilst valuable to me and my machinations do not come close to how I marvel over that first picture of you.

Was it instead a picture you sent me? One of the hundreds I asked for, begged for and demanded? At first I wanted them to show to you how you were always in my mind ( thus ensuring I became a fixture in your mind). I also wanted those racier photographs that I persuaded you to take for me. Initially I used them for titillation although the real motive was to store them away and use them as a method of forceful coercion further down the line. You know me, always thinking of the next move. Later I requested you send me photos under the guise of wanting to look on your beauty when the reality was that I wanted to ensure you were where you said you were (you never really noticed how I asked for you to stand under the sign of the bars you went in or the name of the store you were shopping in or next to the friends you had told me you had gone to visit)

No, the first picture of you, the one I love the most is the one I first came upon when I searched for you online. It might have been your profile picture from an internet dating sight, your twitter banner picture or one you posted on Facebook. It could have been in the local press or a still from a youtube video. Either way, it was not one I had taken and it was not one that I had requested you take for me. I love that picture as I look on your engaging smile, the radiance emanating from it like solar flares from the sun, illuminating and bringing warmth all around you. Your skin is flawless and healthy, blooming with effervescence. Those long tresses of hair swinging to one side, or the bounce of your bob, or the neat rigidity of that fringe, all conveying that message of freedom and having been chosen by you. Your eyes shine, happiness exploding from them, the colour vibrant and elation searing from your gaze. I look on that picture that is burgeoning with potential, laden with possibility and exuding hope. You are a beacon of purity, decency and affection. Your caring nature cascades from that picture. You are that virgin empath, unsullied by my toxicity and untouched by my polluting influence.

Whenever I look on that first picture of you as the surge begins inside me and soars fast and fierce. I must have you. I remember again why I had to have you.

I see fresh prey.

th (3)

You will recall saying this when we got married. You said this as a vow. A binding contract witnessed by God. You agreed to it. So, when it all goes wrong (as it will invariably will) what will happen? I won’t divorce you. You can be sure of that. That will take too much of my time and energy and I also want to keep you connected to me (see Fantastic Elastic) . If you decide to divorce me then you will face my full wrath. How dare you have the audacity to take such a step? You are alleging that I have done something wrong when we all know the reason was that you imagined we had problems in our marriage. Admittedly, I had the grounds to divorce you, based on your unreasonable behaviour in moaning, questioning and nagging me, but I persevered. I would not let the institution of marriage be sullied by your behaviour and I ploughed on. Now you have chosen, on false grounds, to divorce me. How could you? I have done nothing wrong. I gave you everything (in the beginning) and now you suggest that I am inferior in some way that you wish to part from me. Not a chance in hell.

If you thought being married to me was torture, try divorcing me. I will evade service of papers repeatedly so the process is slowed down. I will repeatedly change lawyers (because they don’t say what I want to hear and thus they are incompetent) and seek adjournments (continuances) based on those changes. I will reach an agreement with you and then deny I ever did. I will reach an agreement then breach it. I will dig up every and I mean EVERY sleight you cast in my direction and use it against you. You will be staggered at my recall of such (imagined) events which I will list and detail. I will up my charm offensive over your lawyer (who clearly fancies me by the way – he or she) and also over the judge. I will pay lip service in court to orders and soft soap the judge who will be taken in by my façade of calm, pleasant reasonableness (seen this before perhaps?) and you will be the one churning with rage as another hearing is delayed or goes against you. My assets will be hidden. I will not make support payments. I will deny the existence of assets. I will hound you. I will harass you and if you involve the police I shall switch to my charming self again in an effort to paint you as the aggressor. I will strain every sinew and muster every brain cell to outflank you in the hope that you will give up or concede ground to what I want. Divorce me and you will understand the concept of TOTAL war.

thQ7ZMRLQROne 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.

th (13)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.

th06LBQLJQYou 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.

th (12)

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.

I want.

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25 hard hitting ways you are being manipulated.
Learn about the different ways I manipulate those around me to do what I want. Read how I control people in a range of insidious ways. If you want to know how I operate you need to read this powerful material in order to protect yourself.51zAFF-39EL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_