Like a Bad Penny...

Narcissists that you have left behind seem to have this ability to turn up randomly like a bad penny. Just when you think you have heard the last from them, they "pop up" again. When the other day my friend texted me that El Zorro had contacted her again, I couldn't believe it. They just don't give up, do they?
Still, there is something to be learned from the interaction that took place between him and my friend, so I'll share it with you:

El Zorro (to my friend):

" hey girl, I need some info"

My friend doesn't reply.

Half hour later, he texts: "How are you? btw"

Then: "don't play hard to get, please"

An hour later, my friend replies: "Hello Diego, everything ok?"

He responds: "Hi, look, can you give me the info of the house we stayed in last summer?"

My friend replies: "Of course, I'll look it up for you and I'll send you the details." (As you might have guessed, she had no intention of giving him those details. She's being sarcastic.)

Three days later he calls my friend and leaves a message in her answering machine, he also texts her three more times. She replies: "Im sorry. I'm out of town and won't be able to help you with the info on the house". He replies: "You could at least tell me the name, that's not too much too ask." To which she doesn't reply.

The next day, she gets a text from El Zorro's "armour bearer". Of course, no self-respecting Narc gives up a fight without at least sending one "flying monkey":
"Hello, how's things? I guess you'll be thinking we're using you and there's surely a bit of truth in that, but it's also true that I was looking forward, if you were in town in August, to meet up for a drink (that I owe you), it's because of this that Diego speaks so highly of the house and I was looking forward to take my little ones there, so we wanted to get the details on the house if it's possible. I'm sorry if I have inconvenienced you. Thanks. Hugs."

My friend couldn't make much sense of this text and was confused. If the house was for the "friend", how come Diego was the one asking for the info first? (Both guys know my friend the same and they both have her phone number). Bless... she didn't know about "Flying Monkeys". I explain to her that if the house was for the friend, he would have been the one to ask first. The reason why he was asking now is because Diego hadn't got what he wanted so he sent his FM to do the work for him. The whole texts reeks of FM work. Like, notice the way he tries to appeal to her "tender feelings" by casually dropping in that he wants to bring his "little ones" (which are not so little, in case you're wondering, more like teenagers).

My friend sends the following reply:
"Hi Leo, yes, I'm quite surprised by your message. Still, it is consistent with your style. I'm sorry I won't be able to help with the house details. Take care."

To what he replies: "Hi, look, I really don't know when I tried to take advantage of you, but it doesn't matter. Take care, unless it was the fact that I was happy and laughing when we saw each other last, which I hope was not offensive to you. In any case, if it was that way, I am really sorry".

My friend did not reply to that (and I believe she has now blocked their access to her phone). It's amazing how easy it is to spot the manipulation once you know how Narcissists operate. My friend was rather confused by the interaction and believed that the guys were just being oblivious to their own self-centeredness. I explained to her that they knew exactly what they were doing, but that they didn't care what she thought of them as long as they got what they wanted. 

What I Found in the Gift Shop

Notes on Jane Eyre

While I was away, I took the book "Jane Eyre" with me. Re-reading under the "lens" of what I now know on Narcissism was like reading a different book completely. I cried throughout the first few chapters because the feelings of Jane echoed so much of how I used to feel in my dealings with my FOO. 

"All John Reed's violent tyrannies, all his sisters' proud indifference, all his mother's aversion, all the servants' partiality, turned up in my disturbed mind like a dark deposit in a turbid well. Why was I always suffering, always browbeaten, always accused, for ever condemned? Why could I never please? Why was it useless to try to win any one's favour? Eliza, who was headstrong and selfish, was respected. Georgiana, who had a spoiled temper, a very acrid spite, a captious and insolent carriage, was universally indulged. Her beauty, her pink cheeks and golden curls, seemed to give delight to all who looked at her, and to purchase indemnity for every fault. John no one thwarted, much less punished; though he twisted the necks of the pigeons, killed the little pea-chicks, set the dogs at the sheep, stripped the hothouse vines of their fruit, and broke the buds off the choicest plants in the conservatory: he called his mother "old girl," too; sometimes reviled her for her dark skin, similar to his own; bluntly disregarded her wishes; not unfrequently tore and spoiled her silk attire; and he was still "her own darling." I dared commit no fault: I strove to fulfil every duty; and I was termed naughty and tiresome, sullen and sneaking, from morning to noon, and from noon to night.

My head still ached and bled with the blow and fall I had received: no one had reproved John for wantonly striking me; and because I had turned against him to avert farther irrational violence, I was loaded with general opprobrium.

"Unjust!--unjust!" said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus into precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportable oppression--as running away, or, if that could not be effected, never eating or drinking more, and letting myself die.

What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all my brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in what darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought! I could not answer the ceaseless inward question--WHY I thus suffered; now, at the distance of--I will not say how many years, I see it clearly.

I was a discord in Gateshead Hall: I was like nobody there; I had nothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed or her children, or her chosen vassalage. If they did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them. They were not bound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathise with one amongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in capacity, in propensities; a useless thing, incapable of serving their interest, or adding to their pleasure; a noxious thing, cherishing the germs of indignation at their treatment, of contempt of their judgment. I know that had I been a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child--though equally dependent and friendless--Mrs. Reed would have endured my presence more complacently; her children would have entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants would have been less prone to make me the scapegoat of the nursery."

Courage

“It takes courage...to endure the sharp pains of self discovery rather than choose to take the dull pain of unconsciousness that would last the rest of our lives.” Marianne Williamson

* I tried to find the credits for the illustration but failed. If you know who the artist is, let me know.

Careless People

         I watched "The Great Gatsby" the weekend before last. Not the new version, but the old one with Mia Farrow and Robert Redford. I had seen it once before, when I was in my teens, and I remembered something of the story, but not much: that Gatsby was a rich man that threw extravagant parties, and that there was a car accident where the girl was driving. I had also read the book in my twenties, but didn't remember much from it either. (Apart of the quote at the beginning: "whenever you feel like criticising someone...")
        However, watching it now, with everything I know about Narcissism, was like looking at the story under an entirely new angle.  The whole story is about Narcissistic people who are so self-absorbed, they fail to see the reality about those around them. 
        The conversation between the owner of the petrol station and the neighbour who is "trying" to console him, is a classic dialogue of two people not "hearing" each other. There are many other examples throughout the film. 
        There seems to be a lot division of opinion over whether "The Great Gatsby" is a good book or not, and from what I read, (after I watched the film and deciding to do a bit of research,) a lot of people don't like the story because they don't like the characters. As I read their comments, I thought: "But that's the whole point: you're not meant to like them". This story, whether F. Scott Fitzgerald meant it as such or not, is a cautionary tale. It should come with the following warning on the front of the book (or the film, for that matter):

"This is a story about careless people who "smash up things and creatures and then retreat back into their money or their vast carelessness or whatever it is that keeps them together, and let other people clean up the mess they make.” You will encounter people like this too, so pay attention, and when you do encounter them, don't let them come into your life." 

The Sixth Floor

 Last night I was watching a French film (The Women on the 6th floor) and one of the characters says the following: 

( The film is about a Parisian couple who hire a Spanish maid and thus, come into contact with all the Spanish maids who live in the 6th floor of their building. Seeing how these Spanish maids approach life, changes the French couple's outlook on life) 

"Those women on the 6th floor are alive. We are dead. We need to find our 6th floor."

Talk about serendipity happening again... ;)

The Walking Dead, the Walking Wounded and the Living

The phone conversation I had with my aunts on my last visit to my parents, made me wonder about how on earth they can carry on, repeating the same words -just like the Tolstoy character mentioned in my previous post- year after year, and not feel bored to death of it. You must be pretty "switched off" to be able to live like that. I remember that when I came off the phone after talking to one of them, I thought: "Wow, she's just like a zombie." A "walking dead" going through life as if through a set of pointless motions, doing the same things over and over, saying the same things over and over... and I'm not saying that having a routine is a bad thing, but that they way these people approach life is completely devoid of meaning or/and connection. People like that make me feel just like Tolstoy describes the "aunt's victims" felt: "her victims made their escape with a sense of relief at having performed a tiresome duty, and took care not to go near her again for the rest of the evening."

It makes one want to run away from them. 

When I was a teenager, I watched a horror-comedy film about a vampire hunter professor set in the 19th Century. I don't remember much about the story, but there's one scene that is etched in my mind like a photography still. In this scene, the professor, his attendant and the tavern keeper's daughter are dancing in ball at the castle. It's one of those balls where people go around the room in rows. In one of the walls of this ballroom there's a huge mirror. When the three characters find themselves in front of the mirror they realise they can only see their own reflection, which means everybody else around them is a vampire. I remember the sheer horror of thinking: "Oh no! they are ALL dead" and that feeling, is very much the feeling that I got after speaking to my aunts. Like I was talking to a "figure" but there was no life inside it.
The vampire analogy is very fitting, because you always feel drained of energy after spending time with these types. Since they have no "life" in themselves, they must get it from other sources. That's why they're always so obsessed with what other people are doing or wearing or eating.  Since they unable to create their own stuff, they feed on that of others. 
The "walking wounded" are a bit more tricky. Some are ok and some are 50/50. Meaning, that they might suck your energy at times but not always. I have a friend that is like that. I appreciate that she lets me be who I am and tell the truth about my FOO. She is also from a dysfunctional family. I used to think we were talking about similar struggles, and I would share everything I've learned about how to cope with dysfunctional FOOs. However, over time, I noticed a big difference between her and me: she never tried to apply the things I had shared with her. She would complain about her mother and her siblings but would still go back for more every time. I couldn't understand why she was doing this, until one day she was showed me a piece of expensive jewellery her mother had bought her. "Ah, there's always an explanation..." I thought "there's a pay off to what she puts up with". It makes you look differently at people when you see that they're happy to "take the payment", and that their complaining is not about resolution but about bitching. I guess it's hard to tell when you don't know someone very well, because both look like a "complaint"; it's only with what they do afterwards that you know which one the person is about. A bit like those girls who would bitch about their boyfriends endlessly, only to go back to them every time. That's been a big lesson for me: I'd assumed that because when I talk about a problem I want a solution, everybody else does too. But that couldn't be further from the truth. A lot of people complain to let off steam, or to feel superior than the person they're complaining about.  I guess we can all be guilty of that every now and then. So I try to let people (and myself) off the hook.  For me, the issue here is the "stuckness". When they start to sound like a "scratched record" every time. My mother is like that. She would tell me the same complaint year after year as if she was reciting a poem from memory. It was like a recording in her head. Just press play and the words would come out in exactly the same order every time. "How many times has she told this story..." I wondered "for it to become embedded in her head to this degree?"
The way I look at this now is that, if that's what they want to do (complain endlessly on a loop) that's their prerogative, but it's also my prerogative not to have to listen to it. One thing I realised with another friend, who is always ranting about one thing or another, is that there's plenty of other people who are willing to listen and join in. It doesn't have to be us.  Personally, I've found that spending to much time with people who are stuck, keeps one stuck too, and that's when resentment creeps in. That's what happened with my siblings. They didn't want to become healthier and I resented them for it. In reality, I didn't need to. All I had to say is: "Fine, you stay there if you want, but I'm off". It's the feeling "obliged" to stay "there" with them, what makes one resentful, but if you don't "stay there" then they're not so much of an issue. I guess it's as just unfair to both parties for one to expect the other to keep up, or for one to expect the other to stay behind. You can see why relationships like that always end up feeling strained. 
Some people though, make you feel like you've been "re-charged" after spending time with them. There's an interchange of true humanity there. They "see" you as a person and you "see" them too. They make one feel "alive and kicking". Those are the healthier types: the "living". I'm aiming to spend more time with the "living" this year.