Tag Archives: Narcissist
Somehow with all my best laid defenses and a psych degree in hand, another narcissist was able to work his magic and pique my clinical interest, to engage me in conversation.
It all began 2 years ago when I was on an online support webpage at the bottom of a deep dark depression hoping to crawl out.
Narcissist Personality Disorder is of great clinical interest to me as is other Cluster B personality disorders.
So it all started out rather benign-ish. Said Narc finds me online and poses as a woman to befriend me. Why I was targeted I will never know. He explains that he was using a business account, hence the woman profile, which never held any water. This narc can’t think quickly on his feet. I ask why he was really on the support page. He said his wife was trying to kill him and he was there to receive support for her abuse…. more bullshit. Eventually I call him out on all of it, realizing I have a narc on my hands. He said he wanted my help. If it was true, which I had serious doubts, I was happy to oblige. If the truth was any stranger it would be fiction.
It didn’t take long for his true intentions to be revealed. That he wanted to talk dirty, gloating that he can get any woman to swoon. But I told him with my recent separation and depression, I was the bell jar. I wasn’t going to swoon over anything but a funeral pyre.
Over time he wants me to know two very important things about him: He has a big cock and a big wallet.
Online you can be anyone you want to be. He could be living in his parents basement with his pet iguana making women squeal for all I know while momma is upstairs cookin’ up some bacon. STRANGER THINGS have happened.
The difference is that I know he was a narcissist and I did from day one. I’m a tertiary supply for him. He comes around when his primary and secondary sources are scant. Odd hours. Odd texts which go nowhere. A strange meme here, an odd web link there. The whole thing is odd. It finally dawned on me that’s it. It’s a dead end. It’s a mind fuck. He always leads the conversations back to him and his magnificent cock. Which by the way I’ve never seen (nor do I want to) just saying. Right now it’s pure folklore that his cock is the Sasquatch of schlong’s.
I wonder why the hell I keep replying to this fool. He ghosts me for weeks or months at a time then he flits in like a moth lighting for a moment under my lamp, to say that if I was in his presence I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
Oh joy, oh rapture, unforeseen.
I had let him know my mom had died. It’s always a bad idea to disclose any personal information. I was so depressed for the month and a half afterwards that I couldn’t function at all. I hadn’t responded to anyone’s text messages save for my sister, for a few weeks. This obviously had upset him, as he texted, “how is you Mom doing ?”
He’s so cold. Interacting with him is making my self-esteem worse, my depression worse. I told him recently that I had suicidal thoughts of jumping off a bridge. Haven’t had anything like this I’m years. I am beginning to believe he wants me dead.
I always end up feel so degraded. I have no one to blame but myself. I went in to this eyes wide open. I just can’t understand why I’ve let this shit happen. He uses me like an emotional piece of toilet paper to wipe his ass, save for the fact he has no emotions. Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees. Usually I have a fair amount of insight, but I cannot seem to figure out why I’m in this mess.
Please, anyone want to take a crack???
You slither around the folds in my cerebellum
in a cyclical motion
squeezing and constricting
Eventually you attach yourself into my thoughts,
you become one with me.
I cannot separate myself from you.
I am you, you are me.
Without you, I cannot breathe.
I lose myself in fantasy…..
What if, maybe, what could be, if only.
You are both my pleasure and my pain.
A strange dichotomy.
I rarely fight you anymore these days.
What if obsession gives way to possession.
You better believe that if renowned narcissist Jim Jones were alive and well today, he’d be reaching far more numbers of vulnerable and impressionable minds by writing a blog from an upscale flat in London than he ever did in the jungles of Guyana. He’d still have his loyal following of devotee’s with their troubled pasts of trauma, broken childhoods, broken marriages, and broken dreams. He would naturally espouse to have vast knowledge on how to remedy all that ails them. He would peddle his special brand of elixir or “how-to” and offer to turn their lives from misery to sanctity and freedom. All that he would ask is that they just put their faith and trust in him, their fearless and self-ascribed Messiah .
Like any good narcissist, he seeks unlimited success/power/love, admiration. He has a grandiose self-worth and believes himself superior to others. He has a lack of empathy well-hidden behind a seamless veneer of charm and charisma. Has a sense of entitlement and possesses interpersonal exploitative behaviors. Only Jones knows to prey upon women with childhood trauma histories, poor boundaries, the lost sorts, all of them looking for anyone to care about them. He knows precisely how to deliver that illusion.
In today’s day and age vampires have adapted. They have no need to fear the daylight, for there are dark sunglasses and sunscreen. So too, the modern-day Jones would dispense his Kool-Aid differently than his predecessor. The pen has always been mightier than the sword, or in this case, the cyanide. Our modern-day Jones would trade preaching for blogging. He would use volumes of facts about narcissism and offer to help others gain “understanding”. Jones may perhaps don the Scarlet Letter and admit publicly to being a narcissist. This would do two things. One, through his blog he would both normalize and desensitize the topic of malignant narcissism as well as foster a cheerleading team for himself. Secondly, through describing his own personal experience of being a narcissist in a “confessional” style blog, he appears honest to readers; even trustworthy. He could ensnare victims by creating an online support group via the comment section of his blog and most of them would naïvely walk into it and never seeing it for its dark potential. His harem, a coterie of would be stand-ins vying for place as his next primary source. For they see him as “reformed.”
The real coterie’s purpose to him? anything he wants. Since many subscribers have their profile linked to their social media, at his disposal are their emails, photos, and sometimes phone numbers. He would most likely spend hours writing, cultivating, and pruning his blog as it would be no doubt a great source of ready-to-eat supply. Simply put, narc heaven.
By the time our Kool-Aid Jones blog gets into the minds of subscribers, his words have already become like a slow-acting poison eating away at what’s left of their own self-confidence. Mesmerizing them, paralyzing them to stay close to him for advice, dare they look right when they might look left. After all, he loves feeling omnipotent, loves their adulation. For only he can solve their queries. He triggers the very trauma bonds in their early histories from which they’ve been trying to escape.
Wait, he seems so benign our Kool-Aid Jones, is there really a need for anyone to run?
I try and pinpoint the exact moment when I realised that my emotional movement was being controlled by his dark choreography. I wasn’t aware until the merciless incessant tugging, left me tangled in the cords, unable to move.
It was then I knew, I was dancing for the Devil.
Liberation first begins with the realization one is captive.
I cut the strings.
I am bound no more.
To all the girls and boys out there who have become insidiously ensnared.
Freedom is within your reach….it always has been.
Several years after I was out of the relationship with my ex, my mother received a phone call from a detective in Boston wanting to know if I was alive.
My mom told him that I was. He asked when the last time we had spoken. She had told him it was about a week prior. He explained that he needed confirmation from me that I was indeed alive and to contact him at the phone number he provided. He explained that my ex had tried to developed a photograph at a local pharmacy which depicted a naked woman hanging from a tree by her wrists, bound, blind-folded, ball-gagged, and severely beaten. He claimed that the woman in the photo was me.
My mother was of course shocked but told me to call the detective. I did not believe it was the cops, I thought it may have been him posing as a police officer. Instead, I called the police department’s main number myself and asked for said detective. The story checked out. I was asked to come down to the police station to verify who I was, and that I was alive.
I took the ride and met the detective. He showed me the photo and I verified my identity. He asked me if what happened in the photo was consensual. I said that it was. The detective seemed taken aback. I did tell him at that time I wanted the photo destroyed and that was confused to me as to why my ex had been developing it in the first place since it had been years since we had split up.
The officer assured me that he would make sure he had put the fear of God in my ex about distributing a photo like this and the implications it would have for him if he didn’t destroy it.
As to why my ex had kept it all those years? Like many Sociopaths, particularly those who are sexual sadists, most acquire trophies from their victims. This photo of me may be a trophy of his handiwork. He can re-live that day over and over again by looking at it.
That was the last I heard of him until two months ago when I received a Facebook friends request, which I promptly deleted.
I often read other blogs here on WordPress of both victims of Narcissism as well as a few Narcissists themselves. I have been watching Sam Vatkin’s videos on YouTube for years. I also have been watching Richard Grannon on YouTube for near as long as well.
It would seem that I am doing a good job of staying no contact, despite the two hoovers he sent my way. One came 1.5 years after he discarded me, the other five years later. I am left with a morbid curiosity as to why he ever hoovered me so far out after discarding me. I may well never know.
What I do know is that there is life after a Narcissistic Sociopath. I eventually did go on to meet a new guy. It’s only when one door closes they say that another can open.
The last thing I asked him as I carried my belongings to my car from his house was,
” So you would rather choose a life of paying for prostitutes, going to gangbangs, having NSA sex with people from craigslist, and swinging, than being with me?”
To which he answered,
” well I’m not sure I’d phrase it that way but yes .”
I’m not sure how many weeks it was after I pulled out of his driveway that I just couldn’t get him off my mind. Good, bad, or worse you don’t spend five years with someone and then have it end just in a blink without being in a crap ton of pain. It’s a loss. Even if it was fake on his end, all the feelings had been real on mine.
He hadn’t called me, hadn’t emailed me, hadn’t texted me. It was like I had never even existed. It was like all the ‘I love you’s he had told me was a lie. My mind could understand but my heart wouldn’t accept the truth.
I wanted answers as to why….closure, I desperately needed closure so I sent him an email. I asked him if he missed me and if he ever thought about me.
He did respond and said he would always love me but that I just didn’t fit into his life at this time.
I wrote back again asking if we could just be friends. If I would be able to just clean his house? Mow his lawn? I couldn’t imagine not having some small piece of him . The gaping hole in my heart that he occupied was just too deep. I didn’t feel strong enough to survive the loss.
He answered without hesitation, no.
When I wrote back insisting that I must mean something to him? He wrote back that I was becoming a nuisance and that if I ever contacted him again that he would call the police.
I was horrified. Felt betrayed. Five years of caring for him. What happened to him hanging on my every word so early on? What happened to him teaching me every sexual move I knew?
At first I went numb. Then after weeks of just lying round in my pajamas like a uniform, I did a google search for support groups for women who had been victims of abuse. I put in keywords silence, crazy, mood swings, abuse, sex addiction and found Narcissism.
Then I dig further and found online support groups through Facebook and joined. They don’t show up in your public groups list so your friends and family don’t know your in them. There forums you can read others stories or situations anonymously or also comment and give feedback. You can also write your own story and/ or situation and receive feedback. I felt so much less isolated.
I also joined phone line support groups. This proved invaluable. I phoned into meetings a few times a week. Talking with other women who experienced the same thing. Different keypads on the phone muted and un-muted the phone and the meetings were highly structured so that one person spoke at a time. At the end everyone got a chance to speak.
Every woman that I grew to know on those phone lines told me that he would come back for me one day. They said, “they all do.” They all used their term “Hoover.”
Hoovering is a technique that is named after the Hoover vacuum cleaner, and is used by Narcissists (and other manipulative people) in order to “suck” their victims back into a relationship with them. Hoovering is often done after the silent treatment is given or the victim has left them.
I protested,” not this one he threatened the police on me and apparently made good on it, my local police notified me that although I wasn’t in any trouble, I was asked not to contact him again. That it wasn’t a restraining order but that it would be considered harassment if I did.”
The women all insisted, “he’ll be back.”
And they were right.
A year and a half later, it was Valentines Day evening. I wasn’t doing much. Watching TV, when I heard a knock at the door. I pulled the door open and there he stood.
My heart dropped.
I never ever expected to see him again. He had a box of chocolates and a card in hand. I had done a ton of recovery work but nothing had prepared me for this.
“Well aren’t you going to invite me in?”
As if reflexively, by some unseen force I opened the door. It felt that way, because I felt afraid and yet I also felt hypnotized by him, unable to stop myself from opening the door. There’s something powerful that is created in these trauma bonds they work so hard that form with you in the beginning.
Trauma bond was a term first created by Patrick Carnes used to describe “the misuse of fear, excitement, sexual feelings, and sexual physiology to entangle another person.”
A simpler and more encompassing definition is that traumatic bonding is:
“a strong emotional attachment between an abused person and his or her abuser, formed as a result of the cycle of violence.”
I’m pretty sure that Dracula was a supernatural Narcissist who used trauma bonds on his bitches too.
After I let him in, he initially hugged me but quickly his hands fell and tried to put the moves on me and I realized what he had come for. All the recovery work was not lost. I quickly led him to the door, thanked him for the chocolate, and shut and locked it after he left. He looked quite surprised. I even surprised myself. I threw the chocolate out later. My body did respond to him that night but I never said a thing and I never have.
When people survive repeated sexual assault or abuse, their body often betrays them by responding to their abuser by getting aroused and/or with an orgasm. Researchers David Finkelhor and Kersti Yllo found that some women in their study reported that they had experienced pleasure during the rapes, particularly in cases of repeated rape. They write that this appears to be an “adaptive response” that makes repeated rape more survivable (1985 photo pg 125).
Asking him to leave, rather than falling for the trap of thinking that because my body was responding that it meant somehow we were “meant to be.” This was a huge moment of success for me. I had ushered out the monster and ushered in, the infancy of self-care.
The relationship had degraded so much and yet I did not know to extricate from it. Fear was a large factor keeping me in it, but also as hard as it is to understand for those who have never been involved with a pathological, I still had a faint hope that he would somehow return to the man I had initially met. The nice, sweet, charming, caring person who was attentive to me and hung on my every word. However, that man whom I fell in love with had fallen away. He was replaced with an empty, selfish, highly sadistic man who ignored my boundaries, was prone to give me silent treatments on a whim for reasons I was told to “figure out.” Every once in awhile that old nice version of him would return leading me to believe it was me that was the problem. This “intermittent reinforcement” I would later find out, was done deliberately to keep me hooked in the relationship. At times he even said to me that if I could just stop the (insert bad perceived behavior by him) or begin (insert a desired behavior which he had yet to see from me) than perhaps things could be the way they once were between us. Deep down though, I had a gut feeling he never had any intention of making good with the follow through.
Giving false hope is the devil’s work.
At some point I believe I had chalked up 12 bacterial vaginosis infections in the course of 5 years with him. Prior to knowing him I had never even had one my entire life. My gynecologist said they were sexually indicated but they could be acquired by other means such as swimming in ponds, douching, using tampons and not changing them often enough. Yet none of those applied to me. She made it clear it was not something one could get from a toilet seat. How did I get these infections? I couldn’t help thinking he must be having an affair. My heart was sad thinking why wasn’t I ever good enough?
There were the middle of the night wake-ups where I’d find him gone out of bed. Only to find him using his phone in the bathroom sitting on the toilet seat checking his voicemail because he couldn’t sleep or so he said. When questioned about it he would always deflect the question and blame me with an accusatory tone,” how dare you try and control what I do when I am having trouble sleeping!!!” Or that he was booking a doctors appointment. WTF? Are you kidding me. You are booking a well visit with your primary care physician at 3:30 am?
There were lies.
That he was snow blowing for hours during the winter and couldn’t answer the phone , yet when I arrived I touched the snowblower and the entire machine was totally cold. He never knew I did this.
Lies about going to his regular AA meeting but when I’d ask what the topic was, who chaired the meeting, or who the speaker was, he said he couldn’t remember. Anyone who is in recovery knows this is total BS unless you are drunk going to the meeting. He was 26 years sober.
There were so many lies, so many inconsistencies, so many scary things that I had been fervently praying. Begging God to please remove him from my life. To please keep me safe and release me from this man. Day and night I prayed. Because for reasons unknown to me at the time, I could not seem to muster leaving him of my own free will. Each time that I tried my heart would be overcome with a sorrow so deep and painful, that I would do anything to avoid that level and degree of pain; including not leaving him.
Then my prayers were answered.
I was on his computer and had noticed a photo that hadn’t been there the week prior. It was a photo of a naked woman lying on a table, with him wearing a green shirt on with his hand outstretched touching her genitals.
I asked him about it. He claimed it was from years ago. I knew it was a lie. So I said, “All photos have time-stamps, right click on the image and show me it was years ago.”
He replied, “You don’t control me I’m not going to do that.”
I said,” this has nothing to do with control, if you can prove that this was done years ago just go ahead and right click on it and prove me that I’m wrong.”
He said, “get out.”
“Get your all your things together and get out , we are done, it’s over Lexi.”
I told him, “I’ll be happy to get out if you want to be done , but just the same I want you to show me that the photo was from years ago, prove that I am wrong.”
“Just get out.”
My lip began to quiver and tears began to fall down my face as I begged him,”Please tell me the truth about that photo, I’ve been good this you for 5 years, I loved you and I don’t deserve lies, please just tell me the truth.”!”
“You want the truth?” He said.
“Yes,” I whimpered.
“That photo was from when I went to a gang-bang the first year I was with you…….I am a sex addict. I have gone on Craigslist hookups, done a fair share of swinging, paid for prostitutes, and have a steady pool of friends with benefits that I have sex with, some that go back for many years,” he said cooly.
I was shocked, replulsed, and terrified all at the same time. They say when you die your life flashes before you at rapid speed. Well it was like that. I kept thinking of all the sexual partners he had been with. How many had there been? Had I been infected with HIV and didn’t even know it? My heart skipped a beat and my blood ran cold.
Before I could say anything he said,” you need to leave now Lexi, are you happy you got your truth?”
I carried my things to my car. The cross on his kitchen wall for reasons unknown, slid upside down on the wall and inverted. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
As I walked out the door I felt mostly numb as the tears had already dried on my face. My thoughts still raced a mile a minute, though mostly consumed with one persistent thought, ‘how could I have been deceived by a man without a conscience.’
Not long after he shared his fantasy of his torture chamber with me. I was in my home and received a call from him. He told me, “you should really check the unsolved homicides from 1995-1997 in Boston.
So indeed I logged onto the Massachusetts State police website and told him, “I see X amt. of victims here. They are both male and female. They have a wide range in age and ethnicity. The manner of death varies as does both the manner and means in which their bodies were disposed.”
I continued, “I’m not seeing any identifiable pattern of behavior that would tie any of these victims together.”
He replied, ” No, that’s right you don’t.”
So I questioned, “why did you have me go check on these specific unsolved homicides from these 2 years?“
“Did you have anything to do with these?”
Then, “goodnight Lexi.”
Then the phone hung up.
The following day I phoned the Massachusetts State Police and asked to speak to a detective. I ended up talking to one and told my entire story. Highlighting his sexual sadism and impulsive violence, the photographs I saw of the pummeled, black and blue woman, on through to the animal killing story, to the sexual fantasy of wanting to abduct a teen.
Sadly, the detective thought that my claim was outrageous, my credibility nill , and he consequently dismissed me as a crackpot. He told me he would “ keep a report on file.” This I knew to be a lie. I felt like this sexual sadist was above the law. I was pretty sure he believed he was above the law too.
I felt hopeless that day, but things were about to change and a Higher law would set things right.