Gustave Doré’s Illustration in Milton’s “Paradise Lost”
“It is easy–terribly easy–to shake a man’s faith in himself. To take advantage of that to break a man’s spirit is devil’s work”
–George Bernard Shaw
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I am not proud to admit this but lately I am filled with bitterness and resentment. No wait, that would be a gross fucking understatement. Enough anger floats through my stream of consciousness, that I have fantasies and daydreams that I tell my shrink about. Fantasies not of a happy return to my ex, but fantasies of how to exact revenge upon him. How to bring him to his fucking knees with the same emotional gut wrenching state of pain that he has inflicted upon me, so that he knows what it’s like. There is a huge difference between fantasy and reality and I know that difference. I am not stupid enough to throw my life away over a man or end up serving fifteen to life over a total narcissistic sociopath. In the end I want to heal.
But that’s the shit kicker anyway. Even in fantasy it’s all a moot point. One can not exact revenge upon a narc sociopath.
My spirit is broken, he has given me immense suffering time and time again. Thoughts of revenge bring me no solace, for revenge requires that person to have emotions. In my particular case I don’t think this applies. My ex just doesn’t possess emotions. He wanders through life using women (people really) and discarding them as he sees fit. For he does not have a conscience. This lack of conscience is the hallmark of a true sociopath, that coupled with an appeal to one’s pity. Seems as though some are born without one.
“Conscience is the window of our spirit, evil is the curtain.”
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Kubler Ross speaks of five phases of Loss and/or Grief. These do not follow a linear path by any means. One can weave in and out of them many times over. One may start in anger, then move to depression, then back to denial and so forth:
It would seem that I find myself at present, smack in the middle of the anger phase with the loss of this nearly 4 year relationship. I am VERY angry about all the shit he has done to me and I am even MORE angry at myself that I allowed him to do this shit to me and didn’t have the health to shove him to tim-buck-two and send him back to hell from whence he came.
Knowing that wherever he is, he’s as happy as a pig in shit, makes me cringe even more. While I, the one with a conscience and soul suffer. There is no switch, where I can compartmentalize and shut my emotions off and go on my merry way. Wouldn’t that be fucking great. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk through life like him, only mimicking human emotion? An actor playing the part of a human being for a day, an hour or two? and then returning to a hedonistic pleasure spree unaffected by guilt or remorse.
I’m not sure. Because he will also never know other emotions as well. He will never know the beauty of joy, love, warmth, or wanting to stare into a lovers eyes captivated by their very soul. For he is an empty vessel. Vacuous. Vapid. Vacant. Through and through.
I don’t like how I feel today.
And I do feel shame when I say, that I wish for at least one day he would know and bear the pain that I feel.