And still I ask myself how was it so easily possible not to have seen the deceit. They say it’s because love blinds us that we do not see the monster behind the facade, but I say that’s not acceptable. And for those of you who are with others who truly love you, who do not use love as a tool with which to manipulate, my hope for you is that you do not take that precious gift for granted. Until you’ve been brought down by the very thing that lifts you, you don’t understand the true cruelty of this misfortune.

It’s all winding down now, to the final stage, and it seems as if each new stage has been more difficult to survive than the previous. It started with the “opening the eyes to the deceit” stage, and I am convinced that it is the most painful of the stages. The humiliation born from the discovery that “everything was built on nothing” is almost unbearable and it creates a sense of loss more tragic than what we experience in losing another to death.

Mourning the loss is the second stage, and if you are not beaten here, then it will make you stronger. This is the stage that hopes to salvage some of your innocence, if any remains, and will be the only moments of truth, when you connect, for the last time, to the being in which you were in love, and now, that being is gone to you forever, but you still have the memories of loving.

With your precious love, now put to rest or cast to the winds or returned to the sea, you are able to begin the third stage . . . confronting the true beast . . . seeing her in all her ugly but honest glory, and you are finally free to unleash your anger and contempt to the one of which it belongs. You can speak the words from your heart without worry that you are betraying the one you loved, because the one you loved is gone. You let the anger take you to the places of recovery you otherwise would not be able to go, and for the first time you give thanks that you are no longer “involved with that despicable individual”. To even speak her name is an abomination, but you live with the fear that you will never be able to love again.

I expected the anger, but not the hatred, and with this latest stage, I begin to understand why the hatred hangs on so desperately. It is one thing to learn to live with the truth that I was in love with someone who “pretended to love” me . . . this pretense was necessary, I suppose, in order to extort things from me . . . expenses and gifts . . . it is one thing to live with the truth that this “pretender of love” stole from me and still takes credit for things that were only possible because of me . . . it is one thing to live with the truth that unforgivable things were done by someone I loved dearly . . . BUT it is an entirely different truth with which to deal that this vile individual just might “get away” with committing these crimes.

It was 4 a.m. the other morning, when I was awoken by loud, muffled voices from behind the wall. The neighbors were arguing. Just the night before they had woken me with loud groans and moans. But it was their angry words which disturbed me, and how they were on that emotional roller-coaster,  and for the first time I realized that I hadn’t been party to such things. Yes, it’s been 17 months since I’ve started rebuilding my life, but it’s been 17 months of a drama-free, argument-free, emotionally stress-free life.

And then, tonight, I was having some “me time”, watching re-runs of “Grey’s Anatomy”, smiling at the extremely warm moments and peering through misty eyes at those touching or painful moments, and it occurred to me that I loved like that once. And then I remembered that my love was in vain, and I thought about  hearing Rod Stewart’s song, “Forever Young”, on the radio as I drove home from school the other day.  “. . . And may you never love in vain, and in my heart you’ll always remain, Forever Young . . .”

I took a deep breath, knowing that these kinds of thoughts stir that quiet anger that hides deep inside me, but this time the anger didn’t come. It was at that moment I realized that I am OK and that I am happy . . . and I didn’t feel this kind of happiness when I was with the liar who pretended to love me.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust others again, and I’m blessed to have those in my life who understand where I’ve been and are still willing to keep me in their lives . . . I am blessed to be loved . . . really loved and not a toy in another’s twisted game. But, I have actually walked away from this with learning something, and that is . . . love truly is a precious thing, and if you are loved, hang onto that, be thankful . . . treasure it. But if your love is used against you, to hurt you, try to be brave enough to not lose sight of true love . . . and love yourself enough to walk away.

Tomorrow, October 26, 2009, I am scheduled to deliver my “Values Speech”, and the topic I’ve chosen is related to suicide. And as I drafted my speech notes, it quickly became obvious that a speech of three to five minutes in duration is not an adequate span of time to develop the true nature of this subject. The subject is not suicide, but how surviving someone’s suicide will effect the decisions we make when confronted with an attempt of suicide another makes.

Imagine yourself in this place, or if you have already been here, remember what it was like . . . you enter a room where you discover someone lying on the floor after having made an attempt to kill him/herself. What do you do? What did you do, or what do you think you will do? What factors will effect the decision(s) you made or didn’t make? Is it even a matter that it’s your responsibility to act?

I managed to live my childhood with the belief that suicide is something that happens in story books or in the Movies or to someone else. I was 24 when “suicide” shifted from the abstract to the very real and became the end of a colleague’s life. The suicide of this individual affected me profoundly, and it was the beginning of my questioning the religious stories they sell us.  It was the marking point of when death began to stir an undefined and painful sadness deep within me. Perhaps I am so saddened by death because I have come to believe we only get one chance, and that death is the end of that chance. I struggled for many years to try to understand the event, and eventually I wrote about it in a song . . .

Mary

This is all I know and what I know that’s left of Mary.
From the West and on the run, came Mary.
Her father’s heart was broken when her mother died.
He passed his hurt onto Mary.
I thought I sensed her pain, and I thought she would survive,
Oh, but Mary never was the kind to bring you down.
She would rather die than to rain on your parade.
She couldn’t smile much. Tempered words would make her cry.
On a Friday night on the way to going home, came Mary.
“Too much going on. I’m not that strong.” said Mary.
And my heart was breaking, ’cause I knew that life had beaten Mary.
With a leap of faith and a bullet and a blade, went Mary.
Days would pass us by like the teardrops in the eyes of Mary.
Her brother found her there, bloody paw prints everywhere
From the seven hungry cats.
I looked into what I thought to be the face of Mary.
Laid in satin, laid to rest.
What I thought I’d see was peacefulness.
But she died as she lived,
And what remained was the pain of, Mary . . .
never meant to bring us down.
And when she died the sun came out to shine
and I think . . . I think I understand.

Six years after Mary chose to escape her torments I found myself in a relationship with someone I will call X. I wasn’t “in love” with X, but I dearly loved X , and of all those who came and went in my life, X is the one who I miss and who I felt most connected to. The two of us shared all those key components that are needed in the making of a successful relationship, except for the all important ingredient of trust.

X had survived a tragic childhood that left unhealed wounds, and I became all too familiar with X’s torments and demons, and I knew how deeply the suffering ran. As the “broken” often do, X escaped the pain by drinking too much, too often, or by retreating to the company and the beds of others, and I thought it would be X’s indiscretions that would end our relationship. Still, I had never thought to consider the possibility that X would choose the same remedy that Mary had chosen.

Before we continue with this story, it is important that you try to put aside your morals and your religious beliefs. Try to set aside legal influences or the things that those in a guidance capacity have taught you. This is not an attempt to argue the right or wrong of suicide as it pertains to legal or religious standpoints. Even in my case, that suicide takes away one’s chance to “get it right”, we will put that aside as well.

When I had left for work that afternoon, X had just finished a work shift and was in good spirits. We had talked about what we might do when I get home. I got through my shift without any “bad feelings” or “signs” that something might be wrong. And when I stepped into the foyer, the rooms were well lit, the stereo was playing CDs, and I called out to X. I received no answer.

The light was on in the bathroom, and so, I went to that room and found X lying on the floor in a semi-conscious state, and I assumed X had been drinking again. But then I saw the empty prescription bottle lying next to X.  The first thought I had was of Mary and how I had spent the last six years trying to find understanding. And then X said, “Please don’t help me.”

Finally I had the understanding for which I had been searching. Despite what my beliefs and thoughts are on the matter of committing suicide, the truth is that I am not supposed to judge the suffering of another. It is not for me to decide or dictate how much suffering one can or cannot endure. So, it comes down to my own suffering and endurance, and it made me question my motives for saving my friend and companion.

I have always spent my life “trying” to do the right thing, even if I fail at it. But in a most crucial moment I found myself not knowing what the “right thing to do” was. The “law of the land”, the laws of decency, the laws of morals, dictate that we help those who are in need or danger. I didn’t want my partner, my friend to die, but I didn’t know if I was strong enough to be responsible for saving X’s life, because saving X’s life meant returning X to those torments and suffering from which X was desperately seeking escape. It’s really not that much different from allowing a terminally ill person in pain to put an end to the suffering. The same mentality we apply to “Do Not Resuscitate” might be applied to those who reach a point of such desperate escape as to attempt suicide.

But, in honesty, what was the deciding factor was a selfish desire to be unwilling to have to survive another suicide. Still there were so many things to consider. As I drove through the narrow streets at high rates of speed, trying to keep X from slipping into unconsciousness, the conflict raged a nasty storm inside my crumbling rationale. I was betraying the wishes of my partner, and for the selfish reasons of not wanting to lose someone I loved. Would it have been the right thing . . . if I truly loved that individual and cared for the well-being of that individual, to honor the individual’s wishes to die? Or, was being brave, knowing my partner would not forgive me, saving a life in the face of what it would cost . . . was that doing the right thing?

Suddenly, X stopped breathing, and instinctively, I slammed my fist into the still chest, and it was enough to start the lungs moving again. And yet, the one thought that kept going through my mind was that I didn’t want to survive another suicide.

I still have the memory, vivid in its recall, of X glaring at me from a wheel chair with black stains around X’s mouth from the charcoal used in the pumping out process. I still hear the words, “I hate you.”, and I live with the knowledge that I was never forgiven for the betrayal. But what bothers me is that I don’t know if I did the right thing.

“

Perhaps the most memorable days were spent in Biloxi, Mississippi.

The picture on the left is an aerial view, capturing a glimpse of the ISLE OF CAPRI BILOXI CASINO where we stayed. It looks different today. The harbor is gone, as is much of the green to the south of this view. The view from our suite over-looked the bay, the bridge (which was rebuilt), and the small stretch of tree-covered islands. But, I must say, the best part of our suite was the amazing bathroom. I’ve been in a lot of hotels and motels in my lifetime, and without doubt, the one in our Isle of Capri suite was the nicest.  The walk-in shower was the best feature, but the huge room was loaded with extras, right down to the TV.  That brought the total count of TVs in the suite to three, and I believe at one time all three TVs were on.

I had never been to Biloxy, and so, my experience of it came in the form of the Katrina aftermath. It has been four years since Katrina destroyed that portion of our country, and places like Biloxi are still trying to recover from the devastation. There still remains deserted buildings with boarded windows or no windows at all, and concrete slabs that are cracked and broken where structures had once been.  Dead trees remain as dark skeletons, reminding us of the anger that marred this land.

We arrived in Biloxi in the middle of August, and performing at the Isle of Capri was the band, “A Bag of Donuts”.

The PALACE CASINO RESORT , located across from the Isle of Capri, had just opened, after having had to rebuild. Of course we had to investigate and try out their games.  And no, I did not strike it rich at the Palace … or at the Isle of Capri.

My favorite casino was   HARD ROCK HOTEL AND CASINO , with its amazing collection of memorabilia from the greatest performers of the music industry. I enjoyed the games there better than those at the other casinos we visited. The only disappointment was discovering that one of my favorite groups, Collective Soul, was scheduled to perform a few days after we were scheduled to leave.

Perhaps the most interesting discovery are the sculptures being created out of the dead trees along Beach Boulevard. The pictures below are sculptures by Marlin Miller and Dayton Scoggins.

So, I eventually made it back to Knoxville and back to school with my collection of casino membership cards, some of which have accumulated a good amount of bonus points. I don’t know that I’ll go back, but there is a rumor circulating that we may do it again at Christmas … just a rumor.

Today began with a hot cup of home-brewed coffee and a phone call to my sister. I absolutely love my sister …  especially when she’s “looking out for me”.

I admire her. She faces her chronic limitation more bravely than I could if I were gripped with the same infliction.

I had promised her that I would let her know when I completed my video and uploaded it, and so I did. And she said to me that she felt the song, “Natural”, by Rob Thomas would have been perfect for my video.

I made another promise, that if she were to meet Rob Thomas again … yes, she has met him once … but if she were to meet him again and ask his permission to use his song in my video, I would certainly re-edit the song into the video. Then I asked her why she was so certain his song would be perfect for my story, and she said …

“Because of the lyrics. Are we filling spaces ‘til we find ourselves again? But the whole song reminds me of the way your life has been these past few years. You were just stuck there with that … that person who never intended to give you anything real. And now look … you’ve got to find yourself again …”

So, I made yet another promise to my sister, just after I took another sip of coffee. And I made good on that promise and listened to the song. I understand, now, why she’s so certain this would have been a perfect song for my story.

But it’s these words that I think capture it all the best …

“We’re standing on the edge of everything we’ve ever seen and everything we’ll never get to be.”

That is how I was once living my life … looking back on all that I had become and looking ahead to things I knew in my heart were never going to be realized. And my sister was most definitely right about one thing … I walked away from it all feeling very lost, feeling I knew myself better before “the encounter”.

But what frightens me is this feeling inside that I don’t really care if I ever find myself again. I’m okay with being lost … maybe it’s a safer place to be.

Natural

by Rob Thomas

This is not the life

I promised you before.

I can feel them

running chains around our door.

And I’m coming to the end

of what I’m for.

But I will pull myself together,

I am sure.

I will run for you

until I start to drop.

I will breathe your breath

until you tell me stop.

We will see the ending

of another sunny day.

And we’ll wait at home

until the next one drops.

Are we all just sitting here

waiting on the end?

Like it’s only natural?

It’s only natural.

Are we filling spaces

‘til we find ourselves again?

Like it’s only natural?

It’s only natural.

This not the way

we wanted this to  be.

And I can feel your doubt

inside of me.

We’re standing on the edge

of everything we’ve ever seen.

And everything

we’ll never get to be.

And when you think it’s over,

It starts coming ‘round again.

It’s coming ‘round again.

And when you think

it’s figured out,

It starts coming ‘round again.

I understand this now, after living through it and its aftermath. I see it in me now when I am quick to recognize a lying manipulator. I’ll be honest with you, it does anger me … in those moments when I am faced with how guarded I am. It’s not always the liars or the cheaters who stir my awareness, though. I thought about this very thing when I was walking to the library the other day. It was a beautiful day … just a bit too warm, but the air was free of that nasty humidity, and the breeze was soothing, almost inspiring. It occurred to me, as I was walking with my group members, that I was actually enjoying my time at school. I was thinking how much more friendlier people seemed to be this term as compared to those I was with last term. Then I realized that many of these friendly people were in some of my classes last term, and it occurred to me then that it was me … I was the difference. I’m different because I’ve removed myself from the person and the things that broke me. I had to learn to be in the company of others again, and I understand now that I have healed enough to do this.

In the very same comment that described me as broken, there was something written that is very significant to life and the part of it that makes it cruel.

“It would be so much easier if we could just forget and be able to leave the memories of being let down and abandoned on the steps of those that did the harm.”

And this quote brings me to the crux of this posting. I promise you, that if you want to forget, you can, and through the process of forgetting is how “time heals all wounds”.  Sometimes, the hurt is too much to carry, and the only way to survive is to forget what caused the hurt.

The most amazing thing I’ve learned this past year is that my story is not unique at all. I literally wasted five years of my life. I sat at my PC, stroking the ego of a narcissist, and I did this knowing in the back of my mind that nothing about any of it was healthy. I shunned my friends and family. I resented my job or anything that required me taking off the headset and moving away from the PC. I might as well have been living in a cave on a deserted island. Life was passing me by, and I allowed this to happen, because the person I fell in love with was telling me we would have a “real” life together “one day”. And yes, I know how insane that sounds … how insane it was.

When I discovered that everything that had been told to me was a lie (and can you imagine how many lies can be told in a period of five years?), and when I woke one day to “a stranger” with that familiar sounding voice trying to convince me that I had imagined everything, including our so-called relationship, I knew that I had to put an end to the insanity, and I knew that getting through the worst of it was going to be the loneliest experience of my life. There are no words to adequately describe to you how painful it was. The betrayal was more like a raping. I paced the floors at night,  shaking and unable to stop crying, thinking about all the most intimate places of myself that I shared with this person and feeling so ravaged and humiliated, thinking how those intimacies were treated with such lack of respect …  with such carelessness and cold manipulation … the tender moments of my life were viewed by one as nothing more than  bits of ammo. And there I was, defenseless, abandoned by the one who had become my entire life, and all the lies were ripping through me, and the only place I could go was to myself, but I gave that away to someone who didn’t care.  I felt completely and desperately alone … like no one would understand, because no one else had gone through anything like this.

But I was so wrong about that. Once I chose to leave that twisted life behind, I dove into life head on. The first thing I did was to start traveling again, and I got back in touch with my family and rebuilt my relationships with them. Then I went back to school, trying to put meaning back into my life … to give it some purpose or direction, to take care of me for a change. And through my journeys, I have met so many people with similar horror stories, and many of those stories much more frightening than my own. And what all of us know is that we can’t leave all this hurt at the steps of those who caused the harm, because, one … those people who dish out all the hurt don’t care that they hurt others and wouldn’t notice any of the hurt left at their doors, and two … we know the best thing, the most healthy thing we can do for ourselves is stay as far away from these miserable beings as we can.

But we CAN forget, and forgetting sometimes is all we can do to help us get past the hurt. If you really want to forget, you can, and the more time that passes, the more you will forget. But, you have to want to forget. There are hurtful things we choose to remember, because we don’t want to forget the person. But I promise you … there is no reason to hang on to memories of people who aren’t worth remembering. The process is very simple, and if you give it time, it will work for you. Simply … when a thought of someone or something associated with that someone starts to form, tell yourself to stop it! Any time I start to get a memory of “that person” or the things we shared together, I literally say to myself, “Stop!”

I have been using this technique for a year now, and I am at a point where someone has to ask me a direct question about the incident or I see the person’s name in order to have a thought about any of it. And I know in time, it will all be gone … as if it never happened.

One year has passed since I managed to break free from a hold that was killing me, and on the surface, it might appear that it was no great accomplishment, but from where I stand today, it feels like it has taken me a life-time to arrive at this moment. But it does seem fitting that I recognize the date of the most important moment in my life.

It’s ironic, though … somewhat sad … I had envisioned the most important day of my life very differently. As it is, I’m left to learn to accept it for what it is, and I will drink a toast to the day I made the choice, and a conscious one, to live my life without the one that turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life. And at this moment if you are thinking to yourself that you detect a tone of bitterness, I would agree with you, that the experience has left me bitter, and I have proudly earned that right to be bitter. However, it’s not the typical sort of bitterness, and I allow it to conceal me as a protective blanket would.

Despite, the bitterness, which usually follows a betrayal, this is actually a day of celebration, because it’s not just about from what I escaped, or from what I’ve recovered, but also of all the wonderful things that have defined my life this past year, and this definition could have only arrived once I cleansed my life of the poison. All the dreams I once shared with that “special someone” who promised to grow old with me, I now share with someone else. All the things “we” had planned to do, I now do with someone else. And I’ve learned to be “OK” with that.

For those of you who have read my story, who have followed along, you know that my journey of recovery has been a difficult one, but the difficulty only existed in the task of learning to distinguish the real person from the fantasy. Once I made the distinction, letting go was more of a welcoming than an obstacle. There will always be a sadness with me that belongs to this experience and now is part of the woven fabric of who I am, because when I faced that moment of truth … that I am in love with someone who doesn’t exist, I was left to mourn a loss that almost shattered my core.

As for the real person … the creator of this fantasy … I struggle to subdue the waves of pure hatred that courses through my veins at the mere thought of this individual who knows no limit of cruelty and harbors no degree of compassion for the hurt that is inflicted on others. I long for the day when there is no more anger or hatred … I strive to be completely indifferent to this vile individual, for I have not reached that moment of forgiveness that keeps me from believing this twisted soul is not worthy of another’s emotions. For the sane and reasonable mind, understanding the method of the madness of the insane is beyond reach, so, I settle for the gratitude  and comfort of knowing that I do not have to live within the confines of a twisted mind, but I am unable to feel pity or sympathy for this individual. I’m not willing to extend any ill wishes towards the monster, but, in all honesty, I have to admit, I would not be troubled by any harm that should befall the monster.

As my journey continues into the next year, I will allow the sadness of the loss to follow me like a shadow that grows weak in the light of a new day, and I hope that at the end of the next year my memories will be free as well. So … here’s to the rain washing away the bad … to the new morning … to my new life … a better life …

Cheers!

In this world of good and evil, regrettably I have witnessed more evil than good, but it is the memories of the good that I keep and recall. Though much of my recent blogging has been connected to an evil I recently survived, the memories associated with that evil only visit me in the form of flags during those moments when similar evils cross my path. And though I continue my research, this post strays slightly from that topic with a delightful twist.

I’m taking only one course this semester, only because it was the only course in my curriculum offered during the summer, and the course is Economics (not a favored subject). We must cover the material in half the time, and several of us have formed a study group.  When forming our study group, we had chosen Starbucks as our study place, and if the weather is nice and the temps aren’t too high, we had visions of sitting outside. However, some of the group were hungry, so we agreed to meet at a Mexican restaurant.

So, we sat there, huddled over our notes and books, discussing  such things as the demand and supply curves shifting left and right, the post hoc fallacy, and ceteris paribus (just to name a few), and none of us had actually understood that three hours had passed. That is, until someone made a comment about the likelihood of management kicking us out for having worn out our welcome.

It was at that moment, a woman approached our table. She wore normal, everyday clothing and no name tag, and she politely apologized in advance for intruding on our party.  She said, “You people look so serious over here. May I ask about your discussion?” We all eagerly answered her question, almost all at once, and I think we were relieved to have the break.  After a short and friendly conversation about the “old days”, the kind woman asked us if we would like to have some cookies … as a treat for all our hard work.

I suddenly got that warm feeling … the one I would get as a child when visiting my grandmother, and she would say, “I bought some cookies for you, children. They are in the cookie jar.”

I don’t know the woman’s name or what part she played in the restaurant, but she brought to our table a basket of cookies … chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and macadamia … and free of charge.  And though I don’t know this woman or her name, I will always remember that moment and the kindness she extended to us.  And I will try to remember the moral of this story …

Just because the narcissistic wicked stepmother offers you a poisoned apple, doesn’t mean all the apples are poisoned.

I continue to research this issue … narcissistic personality … simply because I believe we can never know enough about the things which threaten our safety. And recently, in my research, I have come across several postings about people who sympathize with those who have narcissistic personalities, and I am extremely bothered by this.

It’s obvious that those who can sympathize or empathize with such evil individuals have never been victimized by those with a narcissistic personality or have had any significant involvement with such individuals. Many refer to these narcissists as emotional vampires.

I simply choose to refer to them as evil, for that is what they are … pure evil.

e-vil [ee - vuhl]

- adjective
harmful; injurious.

- noun
anything causing injury or harm.
a harmful aspect, effect, or consequence.

My personal experience and involvement with a narcissist is the bases for my claim that these individuals are evil. I can assure you that I am not alone in feeling this way. I have read many articles where the authors of those articles make the same claim. I have read articles written by children of parents who were narcissists, and these such authors suggest that children should be removed from the influence of a parent who is a narcissist. Yes, I can assure you that what I write here are the views shared by many …

The narcissist just does not know what it means to be human. He is a predator, rapaciously preying on others for the satisfaction of his narcissistic cravings and appetites for admiration, adoration, applause, affirmation and attention. Humans are Narcissistic Supply Sources and are (over- or de-) valued according to their contributions to this end.  — lizziejanecochran

Projection becomes such a knee-jerk reflex that a narcissist accuses his victim of doing to him the very thing (or essentially the same thing) as he is in the very act of doing to the victim. — Kathy Krajco

Narcissists are also always looking for attention.
They invent stories to get what they want and pretend they are more important than they are and blame others for their wrong doings. They are flirts and have constant crushes and real or fantasy affairs, they get addicted to pornography and can be cyber-paths who have online affairs with numerous people that they manipulate and lie to. — Steve Cooper (a self-proclaimed narcissist)

And my favorite …

Their inflated sense of superiority propels them to recklessness; for they are subject to fantasies of omnipotence and unequalled brilliance, and they feel that they are above the law. And it is this sense of superiority that allows them to underestimate the intelligence and determination of their adversaries. But they are not brave; they are cowards at heart. They lack the courage to gaze upon the dilapidated specter of their true selves, nor can they bear to look into the eyes of one who has discovered their true nature. — Doug McManaman

Yes, I am bothered … appalled that there would be some to come to the defense of these individuals. I read one post where a woman was ranting her dismay that narcissism is not technically considered a mental illness, and there is a very good reason why it is not.

Narcissism is not a genetic defect or an infliction with which we are born. It’s not a disease we catch. It begins as a normal condition of a defense mechanism. To some degree we need to have a sense of love for ourselves so as not to harm ourselves. The theory is that some, which is estimated to be about 1% of the general population, don’t make the transition from dealing with rejection and disappointment as a child to dealing with those things as an adult. This is why some refer to narcissists as children in adult bodies. Basically … an evil brat!

The narcissist is very aware of his/her actions and intentions and knows right from wrong. Everything they do is done on a conscious level, and most of what they do is premeditated. A good defense of this argument is in the behavior of the narcissist. They are very capable of “behaving in appropriate” measures when facing an audience. If they have the ability and constraint to behave themselves, then by deductive reasoning, it can be said that when, behind closed doors, they are “acting out” or having a tirade or inflicting harm on someone, they do so with the preconceived intention to do so, and with the attitude that they will do whatever they want if they think they can get away with it. In other words, they choose to be abusive. That makes them evil.

Probably the most infamous narcissist is the character of the wicked stepmother from the famous story, “Snow White and the Seven Dwarvs”, by The Brothers Grim. She is the epitome of a narcissist, and I don’t find articles written by people who sympathize with her. Although, the narcissist with which I had the  misfortune to deal puts Snow White’s wicked stepmother to shame.

Narcissists lie, cheat, steal, manipulate, enjoy inflicting harm on others, value nothing but their fantasies, dominate, ridicule, make unfair judgements of others … and that’s just the short list. And folks, I can assure you, that they do these things with an exact purpose in mind … to make themselves “look good”. They are calculative and manipulative, and they are unconcerned with who gets hurt or how they hurt in the process of “keeping appearances”. If you’ve got something they feel they can use to their benefit, they will use you, and when they’ve gotten all they can from you, they simply toss you to the side. Now, I really have to question the mentality of those who can sympathize with people who do these things, and do these things because they choose to do them.

Picture by Amy(Nátulcien Falassion)

One person actually wrote in a comment that she felt sorry for people like this who spend so much energy in plotting and scheming. And I’m sitting here, muttering, “What the fuck …?” She feels sorry for these narcissistic jerks? What about the people who got “suckered” by these evil doers? What about the people who invested themselves and huge portions of their lives into someone who was simply just using them? What about the people who weren’t strong enough to deal with the betrayal and “offed” themselves?

There’s only one thing I can conclude … the sympathizers of evil are the reason evil wins out over good.

What if it were you in the situation … you fall in love with a charming, seemingly caring individual, and you find yourself in a relationship with this individual. The two of you share stories of your lives passed, and you share dreams of a future together, and you talk about things like making a family, a home, a life together. You make decisions based on the plans you made together, and you come to trust this significant other, offering your deepest secrets and vulnerabilities. You make investments of your time and finances, perhaps you buy a home for this “soul mate” or a car or a variety of costly presents, because it seemed to make that special someone happy. And then things start to change. You suddenly discover that “things too good to be true, ARE too good to be true.” That wonderful creature that swept you off your feet is now knocking you off your feet, either physically or emotionally, and cruel things are being said to you, and you’re hearing  negative things about you from others, and you’ve lost touch with friends and family, and you start to wonder if you’re losing your mind.

Finally, the evil one tells you he/she has changed his/her mind, and he/she doesn’t want the relationship anymore … doesn’t want you, but he/she wants the house, the car, and the expensive gifts, and all the other relationships he/she was having behind your back. And while everything is spinning out of control, and you’re drowning in despair and overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, you discover that everything you shared with this person was a lie. All the wonderful things that were told to you were done so as part of a twisted game.

So, if that were you, and if those things happened to you, if someone did that to you, and someone else tells you to try to be understanding, patient, and forgiving … what would you do?

]]> http://krywolf.wordpress.com/2009/05/08/one-face-of-evil/feed/ 6 Khrywolf Snow_White_by_Pretty_in_Pixels ___Good_vs__Evil____by_cat_woman_amy http://krywolf.wordpress.com/2009/05/04/i-would-bury-the-hatchet-but-its-buried-in-my-back/ http://krywolf.wordpress.com/2009/05/04/i-would-bury-the-hatchet-but-its-buried-in-my-back/#comments Mon, 04 May 2009 10:21:31 +0000 krywolf http://krywolf.wordpress.com/?p=286 ]]>

Picture by enigma00

Desensitized is the word that escaped me the other day when I was chatting with a friend. This particular friend has been a valuable source of light as I have maneuvered through a darkness that was created long ago.

I had asked my friend a question, and she had replied, and then a second, unexpected response followed. She had said she didn’t like to answer those kinds of questions, because she knew the answers hurt me. (So as not to confuse anyone, my friend and I were discussing all the lies that had been told to me by someone who pretended to have my best interest at heart.) Secrets aren’t so easily kept and lies aren’t so easily concealed when people come together and “compare notes”.

But, it took me by surprise . . . the extension of such kind consideration to how the response would affect me.  And there was a time when those answers did hurt, and as I tried to explain then, I can say more clearly now . . . with all the lies that have been revealed . . . with the revelation of each, I have become that much more desensitized to the pain that such lies can inflict.

The question most asked today is, “Is there anything she didn’t lie about?” We have managed to come up with a few things that weren’t lies, but these things are so trivial it doesn’t matter if they are true or not. And I should clarify, that lying is a term applied loosely. Much of the lies were given in the form of fabrications. It goes beyond the normal limits of lying. And it does appear today that everything then was a lie.

It has been said that everyone lies, and for those of us who are reasonably normal, we lie either out of a need to protect ourselves or out of guilt or shame. But for those who are dysfunctional, there is usually no logic or reasoning behind the lies and fabricated stories. Sometimes it seems as if some of them lie just for the sake of  lying. They wil tell us things without provocation . . . simple things, like what they had for dinner the day before, or who they ran into while out shopping . . . and yet, the truth is, that seven course meal they boasted about was merely a cold-cut sandwhich, and they didn’t go out shopping or run into anyone.  But, those are the simple things . . . there are things like the confessions of their undying love for you, or tragic tales of being raped, or the struggles of making a decision on terminating a pregnancy, or the painful recounting of the death of a loved one, or the despair of growing up too quickly in the face of teenage pregnancy . . .  and yet, once again, the truth is none of those things happened.

Picture by LivanaCelosia

I’m not exactly sure how I feel about the emergence of the truth behind, yet,  another revealed lie with each passing day. Sometimes it feels as if it will never end . . . that if I live to be a hundred, I will still be uncovering more lies that she told.

However, discovering that it was all lies, catapulted me past that point of “learning to let go”.  It is actually true . . . that the truth will set us free. We can’t hold on to what wasn’t there, but, what struggle I face now is not knowing if I can forgive, and I’m leaning toward the idea that it’s not possible to forgive someone who corrupts lives through deceit.

I find myself thinking about the others who were pulled into this web of deceit, and I am certain, that if she lied to me, she lied to everyone else. She played us all against each other, and with some, she still plays. There are a few with whom I’ve managed to reconnect, and the experience brought me friendships I didn’t expect to gain.  There are others with whom I’d like to bury the hatchet, but I fear the wounds run too deep.

As for the one with the blood on her hands . . . I don’t think I can find that place where forgiveness is a possibility, but I’m thinking forgetting is the next best thing, and I’m certain I can find that place  where leaving it all behind and forgetting her is possible.

For all you Lineage 2 fans who have been out of the loop lately and not up to speed, the final installment of the Gracia series went live on the test server on the 17th of this month.

I’ve not had a lot of time to explore the “new stuff”, but I did manage to get my toon outfitted and into some killing fields.

She’s pictured here as a level 83 Sagittarius archer, equipped with an Icarus Spitter bow, Icarus Disperser dagger, and Dynasty Jewel Leather armor, all of which are S-grade items. I’ve not yet discovered the new Vesper items … so much gaming and so little time. But, it’s all about the hat, anyway … oh, and I’m still looking for the new capes (which were promised to us way back in beta … 4 years ago).

I’ve also not had the time to discover the new continent which is in the air, but I hope to find some time to check it out … I’m curious about the “in the air combat”.

One more bit of heads-up information for those of you who don’t know … my good friend told me that the release date for Lineage 3 has been pushed back, but they still intend to release Lineage3. Okay … so, now I’m feeling like I’ve fallen way behind.