HG Tudor with Shannon McComas

 

Shannon McComas (who you can see in the picture above) kindly interviewed me live via Facebook earlier today. I am the disembodied voice that can be heard via the telephone. The whole of the interview can be accessed above by clicking on the picture, for you consideration.

Thank you to Shannon for extending the invitation to me.

 

0
Advertisements

Why Does He Seem So Odd?

 

It is accurate to state that we operate in three essential states. There are varying degrees within those states, differing levels of intensity which are affected by factors such as the type of narcissist that we are, what we require from you, the level of empathic individual you are as well as several others. Nevertheless, there are three basic states. The first, as you would expect, is the golden setting. We are at our most wonderful, most brilliant and most loving when in this state. This always appears during our seduction of you and we will reinstate it from time to time and often when we hoover you in order to suck you back in and keep you hanging on to us. The second is the dark setting when we instigate our devaluation of you. This dark setting allows us to deploy our various machinations against you, a variety of different of manipulations as the abuse begins and we make your life particularly unpleasant. This requires effort and energy on our part and whilst we will be rewarded with fuel, a certain degree of application is required to use these manipulations against you. When we unveil our dark setting it is upsetting and confusing but often you will find some reason to explain our behaviour. It is usually the wrong reason but you will find one nevertheless as you like to understand and have a reason to explain why someone is behaving in a certain way towards you – you decide we are stressed, tired, hungover, in need of affection or perhaps you are unduly harsh on yourselves so that you, in that usual empathic manner, blame yourself for the behaviour we have meted out against you. Perhaps you did not listen when you ought to have done, perhaps you should have realised that we wanted to go out tonight, or that we would not want chicken for a second time this week.

There is a third setting and this often proves more confusing that our unpleasant dark setting. This setting might be regarded as a neutral setting, somewhere between the golden and the dark, but it is not. This setting is on the road to the dark setting and is closer to that than the golden. This particular setting is the stranger setting.

There will be times when we do not wish to apply considerable energy to our continued devaluation of you, but the devaluation must continue. It may not be as harsh, since there is no shouting, no violence, no insults and such like. It is not the golden period because we show no affection, we do not do things for you and we do not exhibit any of the charm that once flowed so readily from us. During this stranger setting we are neither wonderful nor awful but we behave like someone who doesn’t really know you and you are certainly left feeling like you are dealing with somebody else.

If you telephone us we will not dole out a silent treatment and ignore your repeated calls. We will not answer in less than a ring and speak to you with affection and enthusiasm, instead we answer and engage in a monosyllabic conversation. It is like drawing teeth. We confirm that nothing is wrong and you may think there is but we have not responded angrily or harshly. We have not accused you of anything, we have not labelled you in some way but the conversation is flat. It is as if our personality, whether golden or dark has vanished and left almost an automaton in its place. We function, we talk about our day but with little detail and certainly no enthusiasm. We ask questions of you but they are polite and perfunctory as if we are just going through the motions. There is no nastiness, no backbiting or sneering. It is difficult to process because it is not nothing, that cannot be the case because we are talking to you, but it feels like nothing.

We may call around to see you but it feels like an inspector has called around. We sit, we decline a drink that you offer us and we answer your questions without offering you anything much in return. Where has the charmer gone? Where has the monster gone? Who is this stranger that looks like us, sounds like us but is not behaving like us? You cannot accuse us of being unpleasant but it feels unpleasant because you are dealing with someone you do not recognise. Any questions about what is wrong with us are politely answered and you are assured there is not a problem, but we seem lifeless. You flatter us, compliment us and whilst we accept them there is no spark of interest, there is no response.

Why are we like this? Why is this being done? Why do we seem like someone else? It is as if we have been abducted by aliens in the night and replaced with a robot which is neither wonderful nor savage but is frustratingly something else. This third setting occurs during the devaluation period. It is not a respite from devaluation as that is the golden setting once more. It is clearly not the dark setting as that is the rolling out of nastiness and abuse. This third setting is an indicator of the calm before the storm. Whilst there are occasions where we might switch from golden to dark setting in the blink of an eye, this third setting is used when we wish to conserve energy in readiness for unleashing a particular savage next stage in the devaluation as we will move to the dark setting and crank it up to eleven. You are not cruising along being driven by fair winds, nor are you being thrown up and down buffeted by a storm, instead you are becalmed or moved along by a weak breeze. This is the time we are girding our loins, gathering information and plotting. The switch of functions to the organisation and scheming of what is to come, along with the intense outpouring of energy required to sustain the vicious intensifying of this devaluation means we adopt this near automatic state. You may not ever see this happen dependent on the nature of the narcissist you have become entangled with, but when you do, you should be aware that a storm is brewing and not just any old storm but a supercell storm of savage and damaging proportions. This is a warning.

0

Tirade

 

tirade

“You’ve done what? I cannot believe it. What on earth possessed you to do that? Are you mad? Are you completely unhinged woman? Sweet Jesus I don’t believe what you just said to me. How many times have we been over this before? Countless times. Hell, I said it only yesterday didn’t I? I cannot believe you would be so stupid as to do something like this, it just beggars belief. You know I am starting to think that you do this on purpose don’t you? It’s no good shaking your head and staring at me like that, do you think I will feel sorry for you if you give me those eyes? Do you? I said DO YOU? Yes, you may as well shake your head again, it’s about as much as someone of your idiocy can do. I swear I am living with an epsilon semi-moron, have you always been this fucking dumb? I guess you have. It was such a simple thing to do, straight forward, a child could do it, but no not you, you had to go and be clever and go and royally fuck it up. You absolute idiot. You have ruined everything now; you do realise that don’t you? I mean it is completely ruined and how about that for a fantastic start eh? Yes, I am being sarcastic, I suppose I have to explain that to someone as brain dead as you. Jesus, why on earth have I been saddled with you. Don’t you fucking dare speak when I am speaking, you’ve done enough damage as it is, you will shut the fuck up and listen to me when I am setting you straight. I have pointed out to you so many bloody times what you should do and you assured me, you stood there and assured me that you knew what you were doing. That was a lie. I SAID SHUT UP AND DON’T INTERRUPT ME! I swear you want me to hit you don’t you? That’s what you are trying to do. Oh I know you alright, you think you are so damn clever but I have you worked out. I know what you are up to. That’s right, wind me up, get it wrong, disappoint and frustrate me and then you want me to explode and land myself in some hot water. Well it isn’t going to work with me. I am not stupid. I am not you, you know. I know what I am doing. I am the one that keep this place together, you would do well to remember that when you are busy ruining everything with your mind-blowing and monumental incompetence. It is breath taking. It truly is. I told you what to do. I told you once, I told you a hundred times and you said to me and I can specifically remember what you said, you said ‘don’t worry, I can be trusted to get it right’. Yes, that is what you said. It is no point looking like that, don’t pull that face with me, don’t you fucking dare, I am sick of you not showing me enough respect around here. I work my backside off to keep things afloat, not that you give me any credit for it though. Oh no, you are too busy taking the piss, fucking things up and spoiling it for everyone and especially for me. I don’t know what I am going to do now. I mean, you’ve just, I, I am almost lost for words. You see, not only have you cocked it right up but you have lied to me as well. I don’t know which is worse, but that’s you all over isn’t it. The liar, the deceiver, you flatter to deceive. Don’t think I don’t know what you get up to. I have my eye on you, yes, you would do well to look worried, I know all about you. What are you looking over there for? Look at me when I am talking to you. Look. At. Me. Oh here we go, the waterworks. If you have messed up and you are being corrected start crying and it will be all okay again. Well it won’t will it? It won’t be okay after what you have done. It won’t be fine. It won’t be good or great or fine and dandy. You have messed it up. I knew this would happen. I knew I shouldn’t have left it to you, but do you know what, I thought to myself, no, give her a chance, let her prove she can do it, let he demonstrate that she can be trusted to get it right, I mean, after all, that is what a relationship is all about isn’t it? Trust. Without trust there is nothing. Do you see what you have done? Do you? Do you really understand the impact of what you have done? Somehow I doubt it, that is why I am having to do this. Do you think I like shouting at you? What’s that? Were you going to nod then? Why you ungrateful and nasty bitch, you have some cheek to accuse me of enjoying this when I am the one who has to put up with the consequence of your outrageous incompetence. I am the one who is put out. I am the one who has to suffer. You will just walk away muttering about having understood, how you have learned your lesson and you won’t do it again but I may as well be speaking in Mandarin for all of the notice that you take. I told you to stop crying. If you don’t stop crying, I am going to seriously lose it with you. Christ, what am I going to do? You’ve messed it up and ruined it for me. You don’t care, you don’t. If you did care you wouldn’t keep doing this would you. You wouldn’t keep making these mistakes and winding me up. You are trying to send me to an early grave aren’t you so you can have all this to yourself aren’t you? Got some fancy man on the side have we? I bet that’s what this is all about isn’t it? Ruin me through your incompetence and then waltz off into the sunset with some Johnny Come Lately after I croak it, sent to an early grave by your scheming. You’d love that wouldn’t you, to see me off. You nasty cow, no wonder nobody likes you, no wonder nobody asks you out. Oh yes, we never get invited anywhere these days because of you and your behaviour and is it any wonder. You are a walking disaster area. I mean people put up with you, they did it for my sake, I have good friends like that, or should I say I had good friends like that but thanks to you they are disappearing like rats on a sinking ship. You won’t be happy will you until you have completely ruined everything for me will you. That’s what you want. You want me on my knees, gasping for breath, miserable and wretched as you cavort and carry on with some other mug that you have seduced and promised the world to. I can’t believe I fell for it, but then I guess you keep the real you hidden don’t you, tucked away until you have your feet under the table, your name on the deeds and the joint Amex account. Well you are not that clever because you won’t beat me. I am cleverer than you. I am going to make you pay for what you have done. I am the one who is in charge here, this is my house and you do what I say. I am going to unleash hell against you after this catastrophe, it is an outrage, a complete outrage. I pity our neighbours having to put up with this, but you make me do it, it is all about you. I am not fooled by the frightened looks and the tears, other people might be taken in by it, but I am not. I know it is all for show. You disgust me, you scheming, manipulative, hateful cow. I curse the day I met you. Now look, you’ve made me late, thanks a bunch, that’s all I need. I’m going and don’t think I’ve finished; this is far from over.”

Silence.

“I thought you would prefer raspberry jam to marmalade,” you say softly to nobody in particular.

0

The Player of Games

 

the-player-of-games

 

I love playing games. As I have written before, the games are always being played. I only ever play to win otherwise there is no point. I cannot lose and sit back and smile and accept it was nevertheless an enjoyable experience because if I was to lose then it could not be enjoyable. I would be accepting that you or someone else is better than me. You are not. He is not. They are not. I always have to win. In order to achieve this I operate by a particular set of rules. You think you know what those rules are because when we first come together I deign to play by your rules; I agree to operate by the systems and conventions of your reality. That is easy for me to do because everything is going swimmingly. I am seducing you and therefore you are letting me win because it feels good. I am content to go along with the pretence of agreeing that these are the rules of engagement. You think you are winning because you are getting this wonderful, generous and loving person. In reality, I am winning because I am receiving plenty of positive fuel from you.

It is thereafter that the rules alter because I decide (and it is always my decision) that we will now abide by the rules in my reality. You are not given a rulebook and you have to guess what those rules are. As soon as you think that you have grasped them and got a handle on them, they will suddenly change. It is akin to playing a game of football and I am winning three nil. You score two more goals and you are in the ascendancy and likely to equalise. There would normally be fifteen minutes to go but suddenly I change the rules so there is just one minute left. You fail to score and I win. You protest stating that is not the correct time but it does not matter because here I am the referee, the assistants and the fourth official and what I say goes. If you do not like it, tough. I will just pick up the ball and go home with it. It is like a game of darts where you have to start from 501 and end with a double. I on the other hand start from 51 and do not need a double. You claim it is not fair but why should I care about it? I have to win. Thus, you may realise that I enjoy a lie-in on a Sunday morning so you do not disturb me. I will purposefully set the alarm early and get up waking you early. Or if I do have a lie in, I will concoct some mystery appointment that I have missed because you let me lie in. When you wake me early the following Sunday I will erupt at you for being so selfish and not letting me sleep.

When you think have ascertained what the rules are they will alter. You will do your best to try and keep up but it is exhausting and frustrating. Yet, this manipulation of the rules to allow our kind to win does not end there. Goodness me no. Our driven desire to always be the winner means that not only will we sucker you by pretending to play by your rules and then change them; we will then change the game. One moment you think you are playing Monopoly and then I am telling you it was Professor Plum in the Study with the Candlestick.

“But that is Cluedo,” you will declare rather puzzled.

“I know,” I will smile in return.

“But we are playing monopoly.

“No we are not.”

“Yes we are, look this board has streets from New York on it.”

“No it doesn’t, those are rooms in the stately home.”

“What are you talking about? See here and here, street names.”

“Are you blind? Those are snakes and ladders.”

“What? You’ve changed it again.”

“No I haven’t. You are just making a fuss because you are losing.”

“What are you on about? I am not losing, I was winning.”

“Not at all. Check mate.”

“What?”

Our phenomenal capabilities for lying, blame-shifting, denial and reflection all mean that the game will change. You are wrong footed, unsure of yourself, confused and we keep on doing it. We must win, always and you have to lose, at your cost. We will apply all our methods of manipulation to ensure we are victorious and you lie sprawled in the dirt, broken and defeated. Our success has to be at everything and I mean everything, from the trivial to the substantial, Defeat is never an option for our kind and we will bend, twist and snap the rules and alter the game in order to achieve this. Now, let’s play a game. It is my favourite. You may know it. It is called Guess Who? You have no chance.

0

On Trial

 

“Bring forth the next defendant,” my booming baritone declares from my elevated position. You find yourself being hauled and pushed by two of my lieutenants as the drag you up some stairs. The noise of a raucous crowd grows as you emerge blinking and anxious into the dock. Your eyes dart about the crowded courtroom as you look for recognisable faces but none are apparent. You see elements of familiarity, are those our friends and family, but they seem different in some way? You cannot quite work it out. You just see stroppy wax-like faces, mouths agape, a torrent of bilious noise raining down towards you, fingers jabbing the air, arms being waved frenetically. A seething mass of anticipation and disapproval. The crack of a gavel being wielded cuts through the cacophony and all eyes turn, including your own to me as I sit across and above from you. Attired in judicial robes in accordance with my status, I stare at you, eyes narrowed and you shrink back under this unwavering gaze.

“Well,” I announce, “What have you got to say for yourself?”

You frown, puzzled by this question. You do not even know why you are here. You cannot think straight as there is a throbbing sensation in the middle of your brow and a sickness rising and falling in your stomach. Your shaking hands grasp the rail of the dock but you remain silent.

“I said,” I declare in a louder voice, “what have you got to say for yourself?”

The assembled crowd begin to chant.

“What? What? What? What?”

The noise increases as those who have crammed into the courtroom lean forward creating walls of sneering and sardonic faces all around you. The galleries are packed with eager voyeurs and the noise cascades down on to you. The gavel once again interrupts the crowd and a hush descends. There is an air of expectancy as I and the crowd wait for you to speak. You feel a jab in your side as one of the lieutenants elbows you, a savage prompt for you to talk.

“I don’t understand why I am here,” you say. Your voice sounds weak and quiet but it is apparent that everyone has heard you as there is a collective intake of breath and then you hear the intermittent remarks thrown towards you.

“Idiot!”

“Shameful!”

“So disrespectful!”

“Fool!”

Your eyes go back to me and you see me draw myself up bristling with indignity.

“You don’t understand?” I boom. The crowd start to jabber.

“She doesn’t understand!” “She doesn’t understand!”

“Such impertinence, you should know why you are here,” I declare pointing the gavel at you. The noise of the crowd subsides a they crane forward to hear what you have to say.

“No, I don’t understand.”

“Well you ought to understand and you ought to be addressing me properly,” I continue.

“Sorry?”

“Ah you are sorry are you? What are you sorry for?” I ask seizing on your reply.

“Er I meant I didn’t understand what you meant.”

“Ah, yet another lack of understanding,” I announce to the sound of tutting from the crowd. You can see heads shaking all around you.

“Are you an idiot? A fool? A simpleton?” I ask.

“Certainly not.”

“Certainly not, my lord,” I reply with a smile which bears no warmth.

You frown still unsure what on earth you are doing in this place and who all these people are and most of all why is it that I am sat as a judge presiding over you. I give you an encouraging look. You look left and right feeling uncertain before you speak again.

“Certainly not, my lord.”

“At last some progress,” I say. The crowd nod in approval.

“So, I shall ask you again, what have you got to say for yourself?”

“I do not understand why I am here,” I raise my eyebrows in expectation, “my lord.”

“Well you should!” I explode in a sudden rage.

“Yes you should, yes you should,” repeats the crowd.

“Why am I here?” you say but your question is drowned out by the noise.

“A week of silent treatment,” I announce and slam the gavel down with a loud crack.

“What for?” you cry puzzled and alarmed. There is gasp from the crowd at your question.

“Two weeks for such impertinence,” I add.

“This is not fair.”

“Three weeks for challenging our authority,” I announce.

“You cannot judge me, this is ridiculous, I don’t even know why I am here, I do not know what I am accused of.”

“Three weeks of silent treatment and a dose of triangulation with a replacement of our choosing,” I cry with a gleeful look in my eyes.

“You cannot do this,” you assert.

“What?” I roar, “I can do as I please.”

“This must be against the law; this is not right.”

“I am the law!” I roar.

“Surely you should tell me what I have done?”

“I should not have to do anything that you say, I am the judge.”

“Then what about the jury, surely they should decide whether I am guilty or not, whatever it is I am accused of.”

I look reflective for a moment.

“Yes, you have a point, very well, I shall allow it,” I decree in a magnanimous tone, “never let it be said that this court is unfair. Ask the jury.”

I point towards the jurors sat on the right hand side and you notice them for the first time. They are all staring at you. In actual fact you see my face twelve times staring at you.

“Guilty!” announces the first juror.

“Wait, I haven’t even asked you what I am guilty of yet!” you protest.

“Guilty!” cries the second juror.

“Guilty!” shouts the third.

You shake your heard utterly bewildered by the announcement of these verdicts.

“This is preposterous, no charge has been read out to me, I have not entered a plea and there should be a trial. This is a joke!” you cry.

“Six months of gas lighting to run consecutively to the earlier sentence!” I holler above the braying of the crowd.

“This isn’t fair.”

The pronouncements of guilt continue to ring out as the crowd chant “Guilty, guilty, guilty!” at you.

A man leans into the dock from behind you, he thrusts a microphone under your nose.

“Hello, Ian Sim from the Daily Smear, how do you feel?”

“What?” you reply backing away as another microphone appears.

“Hello, Mark Mywords from the Global Liar, what’s it like to be such a horrible person?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Hi, Ivor Stain from Channel Bias, do you think you can cope with this sentence?”

“May Day from Bad News, did your family make you do it?”

More faces lean into the dock, jostling with one another as questions are hurled at you. The crowd’s noisiness continues as its members drive one another into a frenzy. You see my face times twelve as the jurors leap up and down, hooting and laughing as they point and continue to yell “guilty” in your direction. Through it all you can hear my baritone as more and more punishments are added to the already burgeoning list and your head swims with the barrage of sounds. Faces blur, nausea sweeps across you and your heart hammers in your chest. You feel hot, you feel faint and arms grab you from either side and pull you along the dock.

“What’s happening, I don’t understand, what I am supposed to have done?” you murmur.

“Don’t worry,” says a calm voice and you turn your head to see an elegant lady stood next to you, the lieutenants who were once there having disappeared. Who is this woman? Where has she come from? You have never seen her before.

“Don’t worry,” she repeats, “I will take care of him for you,” she smiles and promptly lets you go. She strides from the dock towards me as you teeter at the top of the stairs, the darkness of the cells somewhere beneath you and then you topple forward and crash into the chasm below.

0

Read and understand all about narcissists from the best source possible. A narcissist himself.

Advertisements
%d bloggers like this: