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Arm yourself with understanding and knowledge. Know your foe.

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I always wake before you. This allows me to slip into the en suite and lock the door and deal with the horror of confronting another day without you seeing me endure this daily ritual.  Already I can feel the hunger rising as I stare at my reflection. Is this what I have become? The bleary-eyed, stubbled, exhausted creature that gazes unwaveringly back at me. No, I do not recognise that thing. How old it looks. The lips are thin, the hair thinning and clumped. Its shoulders rounded and slumped in resignation. I feel refreshed from a solid night’s sleep yet whatever is looking back at me does not accord with that feeling. The fear crawls across my skin and I rub at myself trying to dislodge that cold grip but it never works. The inner dread rises as I contemplate another day at the grindstone trying to piece together what I am, that long arduous task which never gets easier. In point of fact, the task becomes more difficult with each passing month as my advancing age screams at me about my mortality. How that banshee tortures me as she howls in my ears about my waning powers. I feel the tears welling as every injustice I have ever suffered is heaped on my shoulders by an uncaring and oblivious world. Does it not see my pain or does it just not care?
My mobile phone is clutched in my hand. I rarely let it leave my side and I place it on the counter besides the sink and then grip the counter as I continue to look at my reflection. My knuckles whiten as I fight the urge to scream at how empty I feel, how bereft I am and how this is so damn unfair. I try to wrench my gaze away but I cannot. I am entranced by what I see. I do not recognise this person. Where has that shock of white come from in the hair above the left temple? That is not me. Its skin looks dry as if it has been subjected to the dehydrating suction of some foul shade that visited in the night. The horror continues to escalate and it is only the chime of my ‘phone which breaks this terrible appreciation of the thing in the mirror.

Grateful for this interruption I shift my eyes to the ‘phone and see that a message has arrived from one of my coterie of admirers, Samantha. The pilot light inside of me flares into life and there is the slightest surge as the fuel begins to flow. I should wait until I have showered but the hunger is too great already and it must be addressed. I open the text message and like a starving man being given his first meal after fasting I devour the words of admiration.

“Good morning handsome, I missed you last night, I will call you when you are at work xxx”

The flame increases in size and strength as I close the message and smile .I turn on the shower letting the stream of water heat up as I flick to the texts that Samantha sent last night whilst I sat on the settee preoccupied with my activity of flitting between her texts and a conversation I was engaging in with a new prospect on facebook. I re-read a handful of the texts from Samantha with their declarations of admiration for me and I feel my strength returning. I put the phone down and step into the shower and relish the hot embrace of the jets of water. The fear has shrunk away and the dread sensation has been pushed back down. I liberally apply the shower gel, enjoying the sophisticated scent as I use a different product on my face, scrubbing away the dead cells and then another to cleanse and wash. I turn the taps and the water stops. I reach for a thick towel and pat my face dry feeling rejuvenated. As I stood beneath the purifying water my keen mind raced whilst I formed my machinations for the day. Always plotting and always scheming. The prospective fuel that will be garnered from the new sources that I am pursuing coupled with the dose of triangulation I will involve you in is causing me to feel excited and powerful. I pick up a bath sheet and admire the toned nature of my body as I dry myself and embark on the next stage of my preparation for the day by shaving and brushing my teeth.

A little while later my phone has chimed again and this time it is a colleague wanting to arrange lunch as he wants my advice since I am an expert on a particular topic he has to present on. The flame inside rises higher now and this spurs on my delinquent mind to consider additional ways to garner that oh so precious fuel during the day. The hunt for fuel is unending. The craven hunger that rumbles inside of me cries out for it and it is my sole preoccupation. The beast inside must be fed. Yet, now I am feeling strong. I haven’t applied my after shave and already two admirers have seen fit to worship at my altar and the games have not even yet to be played. But they will. I reach for the fragrance and splash it into my cupped hands and apply it to my neck as I look to the mirror. The handsome me has returned. The piercing blue eyes shine, the tousled, shiny locks of hair await the application of some wax to style them, the unblemished skin and close shave accentuate my chiselled good looks. I flash that winning smile as another surge of power flows through me. God I look good.

I return to the bedroom, ‘phone in hand and find you have now risen and I can hear the sounds of movement in the kitchen downstairs as you prepare breakfast as you always do. You will shortly bring me a mug of fresh coffee but I think I will complain that it is not hot enough and criticise you, just to see if I can provoke a reaction from you. It should not be too hard, I know precisely what to say. I notice the bed has not been made and rather than attend to it and help you, when you pass me my coffee with a ‘Good morning’ and a smile, I will cock my head towards the dishevelled heap and tut. Ah, yes, the master of games knows his stuff. I dress as another text arrives from another friend who wants to organise a golf game and asks for help with his swing, praising my technique. He is after more than assistance with his golf since he wants me to place work with him. He will have to provide me with more fuel yet to even be considered and of course, I will send the work elsewhere since there is someone who will give me something I want in return in a sweeter form and in larger amounts than my golfing chum. Still, the disappointment on his face will no doubt provide me with a hit too.

I can hear you coming up the stairs and I decide I will take a look in the full length mirror since I am fully attired to admire how elegant I look. I dress in a manner which says to anyone who meets me that the first move is mine. I stand and give a contented nod at my statuesque reflection. I look fantastic. I start to smile and then a bolt of anguish shoots through me as the craven creature that first lurked in the bathroom mirror appears. It is only for the briefest of instances but it causes me to exhale. My expensively-dressed self returns and the relief washes over me in an amazing way. The creature has gone again. He does that though. He likes to make fleeting appearances throughout my day to remind me that I must keep finding fuel. My quest for the potent fuel must be at the forefront of my mind at all times. As if on cue, you enter the bedroom, a veritable reservoir of fuel. You greet me as I cock my head to the unmade bed and tut. I feel the rush of power as your smile evaporates and you look crestfallen. The games have begun and my day is off to a great start. I only hope that creature stays away from me.

When I first take you on board my yacht you will no doubt admire its sleek and pristine appearance. From the polished hull through to the crisp and pressed uniforms of its crew, my vessel exudes expense, opulence and desirability. You marvel at how magnificent it looks, the white of the hull contrasting with the gently lapping azure sea. I take you on an impromptu tour showing you the master bedroom, the well-equipped kitchen, decadent living areas and inviting bathrooms. Every detail has been carefully considered in ensuring that this is a yacht you want to always sail in. The flowers that have been placed on your side of the bed are your favourite. You see the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and can already feel its soft embrace as you slide it around you following an invigorating shower.
Back on the immaculate deck,I show you to a sun lounger and invite you to relax as we set sail, a hot sun blazing in a sky where there is not a cloud to be had. You lie down enjoying the caress of the sun’s rays as you are waited on by my crew, a succession of delicious and cold drinks brought to your side as you slip into a gentle sleep.
A sudden lurch of the vessel rudely awakens you and you shiver. The sun has vanished, a canopy of dark grey clouds having covered it. You sit up as you hear a crack and the sun lounger fractures, not from your weight, but as a consequence of its decayed state. You jump up and the vessel leans alarmingly as it is buffeted by a large wave. Spray combines with driving rain as you scurry to the nearest door into the yacht to escape the storm that has appeared out of nowhere. You halt on the threshold and frown as your gaze sweeps over stained and tattered carpets. Paint peels on the walls and the ceiling has fallen in on one side. You call out my name but there is no reply. Concerned you move from room to room but find nobody. The crew have vanished. The kitchen is smeared with grease and dirt, rotting food has been left lying around. The bathrooms are grubby, the tiles cracked and the mirrors broken. You make your way around the yacht but the scene is similar everywhere you go. It is run down and dilapidated from long-term neglect.
The yacht tips and you hear plates smash as you make for the bridge of the vessel, increasingly concerned for your safety. The bridge is similarly deserted and you see the yacht’s wheel has been lashed in place causing the vessel to continue on a course into a mass of black clouds and forked lightning which you can see ahead despite the cracked glass in front of you. You reach for the radio but it has been smashed. There is a mobile ‘phone which you pick up in desperation. It will not allow you to dial any numbers however and will only permit you to call three pre-programmed numbers. The first displays the word “Coterie”. Somebody answers but all you can hear is the sound of celebrating, the noise of the party is deafening and your pleas for help are drowned out by the noise of excitement and reverie. The second reads “Lieutenants”. Again it is answered and you ask the person answering for help. You are told that they are busy and you got yourself into this situation so you will have to sort it out yourself. You try that number again and a different voice answers but it tells you that you are crazy to have sailed into a storm and they cannot help you. With fear and desperation rising you ring the final number and the word “Me” comes up on the display.
“Hello?” I answer.
“What’s happening? Where are you? I’m in trouble, something has happened to the yacht. Everything was fantastic but now, I don’t understand, it has all gone wrong and I am in the middle of a storm. It’s happened so fast, help me, please help me.”
“Head onto the deck,” I reply calmly and end the call.
You do as instructed and above the noise of the wind and the crashing waves you hear the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. You look up and see me controlling the winch as I lower a harness down to you. The yacht pitches and you lose your footing. You clamber back up and try to grasp the harness but I have begun to yank it back up away from you. Still clutching the mobile you call me again.
“Help me, please, send down the harness, I need your help.”
I begin to lower the harness again but as it nears and you try and grab it you feel a stinging sensation on your arm and draw it back. A weal is already forming from where the pellet has hit you. You look up and see me grinning as I wave the airgun at you. The harness is still in front of you and you try to grab it but another volley of pellets drives you back before the harness begins to rise again.
You call me a third time.
“Please, why are you doing this? I don’t understand. Help me, I will do anything, just get me off here.”
“Anything?” I answer.
“Yes, anything, just please, lift me off here.”
You look up as the harness begins to lower and I train my sights on you once again.
“Please don’t shoot at me, I don’t know what I have done, this yacht, it has turned into a nightmare,” you shout into the phone begging me.
“Didn’t you see the yacht’s name when you came aboard or were you too in awe of it?” I ask. You glance at one of the life rings and see the yacht’s name printed on it. You paid no heed to the name when you glanced at it when you first boarded the yacht as you were indeed taken in by its grandeur. As the yacht rolls and threatens to throw you off your feet, your eyes settle on the black letters on the red and white ring. They are unmistakable.
“Narcissist.”

I’ve always been a people person. They make me tick. I find it important to maintain that front of dependability and wisdom so that people know that they can turn to me. I carry out several roles in public life. I am a school governor, a non-executive member of a hospital trust, a trustee for a charity involved in helping the homeless and a committed Rotarian. I draw tremendous satisfaction from undertaking these roles. Happily for me, my useful contributions to the various boards and organisations also means that I receive delicious fuel from those I work alongside and also the grateful beneficiaries of my largesse. I know a couple of people think that I am quick to cut-down unproductive suggestions and destroy pointless ideas but we are all giving our time voluntarily and rambling meetings serve no purpose, other than to irritate me. I need to drive the ideas forward and foolish comments are contrary to achieving that. I don’t get involved amongst the foot soldiers though. No, I am never going to be doling out soup and bread at the street kitchen or leafleting on a cold night, that is for others. I am far better suited to the bigger picture, the grand design and orchestrating campaigns. I am a leader.
This public face also enables me to ensure that should any of my crazy victims ever try to make trouble they will face an uphill struggle. I have at least one lieutenant in each of the bodies I detailed above. Their unswerving loyalty prevents any attack on my standing with the organisations I belong to. Moreover, such a generous and committed individual to service such as me could never carry out some of the defamatory allegations these deranged individuals come out with. Of course, presenting such a charitable face to the outside world is very tiring and that mask becomes so heavy so I am substantially relieved to remove it once the front door has been closed. Unfortunately for you, this means you are left in private with what lurks beneath. Try and tell anyone about what I do to you and you will not be believed. A behemoth of the community such as me cannot be touched. You would do well to keep that in mind and do as I say to avoid me having to unleash my rage and besides I can’t be long, I am meeting the Chief Constable for a drink at the golf club this evening and it would be very irksome if your behaviour made me late wouldn’t it?

escape

The inside track from the dark-hearted master

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US     http://www.amazon.com/Escape-Beat-Narcissist-H-Tudor-ebook/dp/B016P8VXQA

UK       http://www.amazon.co.uk/Escape-Beat-Narcissist-H-Tudor-ebook/dp/B016P8VXQA

CAN    http://www.amazon.ca/Escape-Beat-Narcissist-H-Tudor-ebook/dp/B016P8VXQA

Relationshipedia offers very helpful advice and support in dealing with the behaviour of my kind and me. This is done from the other side of the fence to me. Relationshipedia is looking for contributors to a worthwhile publication. I detail the link below which may be of interest to you.

http://relationshipedia.me/2015/10/08/share-your-story-in-the-book-i-am-free-about-surviving-narcissistic-abuse-and-help-heal-others-2/

There is always a war somewhere raging on the face of this planet. Similarly, there is always a war taking place at some point within my life. I am combat-ready and mobilised for conflict. I know it staggers you just how many people I manage to fall out with. You don’t fall out with people, well only me and that is my doing. Contrast that to my position. When I am devaluing you I am warring with you, laying mines amongst the eggshells in the hope that you will tread on one. I fire my malice missiles towards you, lob a hand grenade of hatred in your direction and pepper you with bullets from my pomposity pistol. At times it is all you can do to pull on your tin helmet and hunker down in the hope of avoiding being hit. Even when I am seducing you it is a form of combat; they do not call it love bombing for no reason.
My list of opponents grows longer day by day. My war with you is established and entering a phase of attrition. I open up a new front against a family member with a barrage of toxic comments which may as well be nerve gas for the effect they have. I launch an ICBM against a colleague and delight as it hits the target and downs them, plunging them into the depths as they lose their job. I even skirmish with the lady in the convenience store. I cannot go anywhere in a peaceful fashion. I must bring fury and upheaval wherever I tread in order to create reaction.
Many a time I have been asked, “What is wrong with you? It is like you are at war with the world,” such is the breadth of those I lock horns with and the ferocity of my behaviour. Ignore me and I hurl daggers towards you, criticise me and I open up with my flame thrower of narcissistic rage, defy me and I launch a thermonuclear assault on you caring not whether it engulfs other people in its all consuming rage.
I am at war with the world. The world owes me and until it recognises me and pays me the adulation I deserve it must be subjugated, attacked and conquered. I fail to appreciate that this war is never-ending as I rip the white flag in two, snap the olive branch and shoot down the dove of peace. I fight on and on even though I know it is a war I cannot win.

Become involved with one of my kind and the issue of money will not be far away. Of my high-functioning brethren money is not an issue. We are successful individuals. Indeed, the driven nature of our narcissism has enabled us to become successful. We are not hampered by concerns about having to please everyone. We have no worries about treading on somebody’s toes and if someone is hurt by our ruthlessness well we have no capacity to care about it so it is onwards and upwards for us. In fact, the world needs my kind to be the achievers which will take risks and create and build in our preoccupation with success and status. The happy consequence of this success is that we have plenty of money and use that during our Love Bombing phase to shower you with gifts and invitations to expensive places. Everyone enjoys receiving those type of things.
You will however then notice a shift in our largesse whereby despite our not inconsiderable remuneration you will find yourself paying for everything. I will forget my wallet or make it clear that it is your turn to pay. We will dash to the bathroom when the bill arrives and you will pay it as we stand watching from across the room to make sure you do, only returning thereafter. We will feign a lack of cash about our person to use yours, pretend our credit card is at its limit to use yours and that we are waiting for expenses and thus have been left somewhat short this month. Why do we do this? Surely we would prefer to continue our grandiose gestures at being in possession of a black Amex card and continuing to show off our financial resource? No, we have given you all that during our seduction of you and now we are delivering the bill for all of that. We see it as being entitled to you paying for us. Even if our initial generosity was not huge, we showered you with love and affection. You owe us for all of that and we will take payment by means of cash, card, bank transfer or hostage exchange. We want to make you pay to reinforce your obligation to us. We are exerting control over you. We are testing you. We want to push you to see how far you will go in paying to keep us with you. How much debt you will carry in order to ensure that we remain together. With everything we do, our attitude to money is framed through entitlement and the need to control you so that you remain attentive and provide us with our precious fuel.
That is how we high-functioning individuals regard the matter of money. I shall touch on in a future post on how the low functioning members of the club treat it, so save your tales of enforced penury until then.

I know a number of you have been curious as to what I look like so I thought it was high time I posted a picture so there you are. Just my little joke. I don’t have a beard. No, the question of spirituality is one that occasionally surfaces. I know of several of my kind who embed themselves in religious groups and congregations because there is a surfeit of care givers and do-gooders available to target. Not only are those who attend worship more likely to be empaths they are also beholden to a set of rules that exhorts them to behave in a thoroughly empathic manner. It is a double whammy of delicious goodness and evidently too good for some of my brethren to pass up.

Where does religion enter to elsewhere into our lives? I was asked recently whether I believed in God. I asked why and the questioner suggested (with fair reasoning I will admit) that she suspected that most narcissists are atheists. The reason for this is that we could not stand to believe that anything more powerful than ourselves exists. It is a good point and I know that it is an applicable one to some of my kind. But not me.

I attended church in my youth at the instruction of my parents. I found it tedious, although I did like the idea of having a pulpit and a captive audience. The history of organised religion interests me – now there were some master manipulators. I should imagine even I could learn something from the archbishops of yesteryear. I also attended a church school. I enjoyed school. It was where I first began to practise my craft and it also provided me the necessary interface with lots of different people, enabling me to study them and gauge their behaviours and reactions. You might regard this as being ahead of my time but I had a good teacher and of course daddy dearest was the headmaster as I have explained way back somewhere on this blog. I had no option to avoid religion. It flowed through the house and school and consequently my life. I was brought up to believe in God and complied with that, for the consequence of rejection was not one I wanted to suffer.

That explains my foundation in my belief but what of now? Has the passage of time and the progression of adulthood eradicated those beliefs? Not at all. If there was no God then how is it that I have been chosen to be as special as I am. Who else would lead and create and test. His power flows through me, I am his instrument and I am blessed with his power of judgement. He chooses many people to further his works and he invests each of them with a fraction of his might appertaining to different facets of his glorious being. The surgeons, nurses and charity workers are chosen to extend his tender caress across the world. The clergy are his mouthpiece, spreading the word and organising those that follow. The brilliant authors, artists, entertainers, inventors, sports stars and musicians have been blessed with an element of his almighty talent and power of creation and they are charged with bringing joy and enlightenment to the masses. For me, my role is to dispense with those who are not of his exacting standard, to challenge the impure, to test those who proclaim to be unblemished and loving and root out those that are the charlatans who do not deserve His perfect love. So yes, I believe in God for his power flows through me and I undertake his works.

I would never hurt an animal, not intentionally. I am an expert marksman but I would never shoot a live animal. I am not fond of animals, I have never kept a pet and I never will. Caring for or hurting an animal has no interest for me. I should imagine that has taken a few of you by surprise. I should imagine that you saw the picture of this fox with his cast and thought, “This is where he shows more of his sadism by revealing that he tortured guinea pigs when he was  a child or shot at birds in the garden with an air rifle.” I am pleased to disappoint you. That never happened. I am well aware that hurting animals may be a sign of no conscience but it does not follow that a lack of conscience means that you will hurt animals. I know that certain individuals obtain an emotional gratification by hurting an animal as this is about exhibiting the ultimate control. I regard those that engage in that type of behaviour as low-functioning epsilon semi-morons. An animal cannot answer you back, it cannot tell you things or say the wrong thing. I do think that animals display certain self-centred narcissistic tendencies, feed me, wash me, stroke me, play with me, walk me, clean my living space and so on. They require a lot of attention and that is why I cannot countenance ever having one as a pet. I suspect that is the reason why I have never hurt one.

No, my ire exists for the wounded creature, the pathetic person that is weak. I do not like babies because they are weak and absorb attention away from me. I do not like the elderly, they are weak and they absorb attention away from me with all the help they need. I also want no reminder of how mortality fades and they are the spectres hovering at the end, reminding us that the reaper’s scythe is nearing. I do not like the ill, they are weak and they absorb attention away from me. I think you are getting the picture now. I know you empathic people reach out to these people and that society dictates that these groups should be cared for. That does not resonate with me. They infuriate me. I would rather they disappeared and did not distract from my purpose. Should they come within my reach they find themselves subjected to my irritation and displeasure which results in me lashing out  with acidic tongue and savage words at them in order to exhibit my annoyance. I know you regard that as wrong but I am just being honest. It is what I feel. Now you know why my kind ditches you for a younger model, pays no interest to the birth of our child and why our kind always vanishes when you are ill or injured and in need of care. We have no desire to be reminded of weakness, not when it threatens us from inside on a daily basis.